


Seal the Deal

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Dark One Captain Hook | Killian Jones, F/M, Seduction, Smut, first born deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: “Then we have a deal,” The Dark One murmured. “When you return home, you’ll find your father well and healthier than he’s ever been. All the pain and suffering a distant memory.”Emma released stuttering breaths of pure joy, her eyes stinging with the happy tears pooling in their corners. “Thank you! You… you’ve no idea what it means to me. What he means to me.”“I only hope he’s worth the price you’ve agreed to pay,” he replied, his hand still firmly enveloping her own. “Which we shall begin working towards tomorrow eve.”Emma cocked her head to one side, brows deeply furrowed. “What?”A cunning grin pulled at his lips. “You agreed to give me your firstborn child, did you not?”“I… yes?”“Well…” his pregnant pause and suggestively raised brows caused Emma’s heart to palpitate painfully in a vice of dreadful understanding his next words clamped into place. “With no husband to assist in the matter, how else did you presume to give me your firstborn?”
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 113
Kudos: 354





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100% the fault of @courtorderedcake, who shared a post by Tumblr users deluxeloy and hayleyolivia in the discord back in the spring, forcing me to write it (Thanks, babe!). I’ll be updating it every other Sunday, alternating with my csmm fic, and anticipate it being about 5 chapters (famous last words!).
> 
> Much love to the Discord Enablers who “encouraged me” along the way, especially @teamhook ;o) Also, much love to my beta @kmomof4 for all of her assistance and flails, and to @artistic-writer for being my person (MUAH!).

* * *

**Prologue**

The clearing was deceptively serene. An occasional soft creak of branches nearby, the crispness of the autumn breeze swirling through the tall grass, both added to the tranquil illusion permeating not just the glade, but the surrounding groves as well. Anyone out for a quick stroll might have missed it, the undercurrent of dread that made this place uninhabitable for creatures with sharper instincts than those of humans. No birds nested here, no burrow or den had ever been crafted to house the woodland fauna within this patch of woods where this particular clearing sat.

The clearing that contained the vault of the Dark One.

Emma shivered against the whisper of autumn wind catching the loose ends of her hair. It had grown much colder as she approached the circular altar where it was said the beast could be summoned on command. Few had ever dared to contact him this way, choosing instead to seek out an audience at his castle, though such an endeavor usually resulted in a refusal to be seen. Many, like Emma’s father, felt such a refusal was actually a blessing. No one ever came out better in their circumstances after making a deal with the Dark One. It was best not to tangle with such evil.

But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Emma would not risk the demon's refusal of hearing her plea. Nor was there anything she wasn’t willing to risk in exchange for the magic only he could provide. Magic her father desperately needed.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Emma straightened her posture. Her hands balled themselves into fists, anchoring her so she would stand her ground once the demon appeared. Swiping her tongue over her lips, she swallowed heavily, then with as much authority as she could give to combat the quivering in her voice she spoke the words she’d been warned all her life to never utter.

“Dark One, I summon thee.”

The air cracked, releasing a blustering gale that whipped Emma’s hair over her face and her skirts tangling through her legs, nearly toppling her over. Through the strands caught in her lashes, Emma could make out a flow of mire gurgling up through the vault and collecting at its center. The dark, viscous matter began to take shape, and Emma’s breath hitched painfully in her chest when she realized it was taking on the form of a man.

A man dressed in the finery of black leather with dark silver embellishing his buckles and closures. His long coat nearly touched the metal vault beneath his booted feet, and his expertly tailored trousers and vest displayed a fit physique Emma had not expected to find, given the tales she’d heard of him being a monstrous creature. Looking past the sinister aura his clothes and gleaming metal hook presented, Emma was stunned with the beauty his features possessed. From the chaotic nature of his wind swept, raven hair to the piercing blue of his eyes, Emma couldn’t pull her gaze from him until she’d taken in every detail. Stubble littered his strong jawline, the muscle beneath betraying its hint of auburn as it flickered in the afternoon sun streaming in through the canopy. His heavy brows, which had first sat low over his eyes, now began to twitch and arch in curious displays as he took in the sight of her, assessing her with as much scrutiny as she was him. Emma had just made her way to the small scar maring his cheek when his voice jolted her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, love?”

Though his words were cordial enough, his tone was anything but. Clearing her throat, Emma managed to squeak out, “I’ve come to make a deal.”

A rueful smile pulled at his lips, followed by his flippant reply. “I’d gathered as much. People don’t tend to summon me for my conversation.” He flicked his hand, gesturing for her to proceed then stepped off the dias, making his way towards her. “Go on, then. Present your request.”

Emma’s heart hammered frantically in her chest as he approached, but her panic - _was it panic?_ \- began to subside when he stopped short and settled himself on a fallen log. Legs splayed wide and bent at the knee, his attention was no longer on her but on the tip of his hook, which he’d begun toying with while he waited for her to present her petition.

“It’s my father,” Emma blurted out, the story tumbling from her lips before she lost her nerve. “He’s ill. Gravely ill. The healers say there’s… there’s nothing more that can be done, but I know you possess the magic that could save his life. End his suffering.” He seemed to have paid her no attention during the recounting of her woes, which only heightened her already impassioned state. Marching up to him, she knelt between his knees and grasped onto his hand. “Please!” she begged. “I’ll do _anything_ to save my father’s life.”

The Dark One sighed. “I despise when you lot say that,” he grumbled. “Have you any idea what you are truly asking for?” He emphasized the question with a hum of inquiry, his brows lifted high upon his forehead. “All magic comes with a price, love, and _this_ type of magic, requires a hefty one.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it,” Emma declared quickly. However, a sinking sense of helplessness followed in its wake when she considered her current circumstances. “Though, I confess,” she added in an anguished whisper, “my family is not wealthy, but I am sure we can come to some sort of an agreement. I’m a hard worker. I could pay you in trade.”

“This type of magic requires a price that cannot be paid in silver or gold,” he replied, a look of cunning blooming within his eyes that sent a shiver down Emma’s spine. “It requires a cost of equal weight in its return. A life for a life.”

Emma gasped, and pulled her hands away from his. Closing her eyes, she envisioned what her mother and father would say, how they would take the news that she’d given up her own life so her father could live. They would be devastated, of course, but her father was more important. Without him, who would keep the farm going until her brother, Leo, was old enough to take it on?

“If my death is the price, so that my father may live then--”

“Your death?” the Dark One scoffed harshly, forcing Emma’s eyes to snap open. “No, no, love. A _life_ is required. Not a death.”

Emma’s brows pinched together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His eyes swept over her, the look within them made her shiver again, but in an entirely different way than before. A shiver not born from the cold tendrils of dread, but from a chilling heat that raised the fine hairs of her body while settling a flush upon her skin.

“Why… the life of your first born child,” he responded with a sinister grin.

Her first born? Emma knelt there before the Dark One totally stunned by his demand. She’d never even considered children before. She had no dowry, and very few prospects from which to choose in the way of a husband. She doubted very much whether she’d ever marry at all. Her family needed her at the farm until her brother came of age, which by that time she’d be considered an old maid with no more bachelors eligible with whom to make a match. No husband meant no first born to barter with, but surely the man knew that. During the perusal of her form, he most assuredly would have noticed her lack of a wedding band.

But what if he hadn’t?

Emma worried her lip, the Dark One’s eyes locking on to the action as he silently awaited her response. Could she simply make the deal knowing she’d never have to actually pay the price? Have the Dark One cure her father with no intention of ever having a child? Her breaths coming in shallow pants, she stood and stuck her hand out towards him.

“Deal.”

Slowly, he got to his feet, towering over her while contemplating her proffered hand. “You’re sure?”

Craning her neck to meet his gaze, she jutted out her chin, almost defiantly. “I’m sure.”

His hand wrapped around hers, turning it over so he could brush the back of it with his lips. A surge of something wondrous shot up her arm, stealing her breath. Her lips parted and she tried to tear her eyes away from his, but they remained transfixed on the forget-me-not hue that had begun to darken with swirls of midnight and fathoms of deep ocean swells.

“Then we have a deal,” he murmured. The gruff edge of his voice sent a wave of heat through Emma’s body, making her light-headed from the barrage of foreign emotions she could not find words for. “When you return home, you’ll find your father well and healthier than he’s ever been. All the pain and suffering a distant memory.”

Emma released stuttering breaths of pure joy, her eyes stinging with the happy tears pooling in their corners. “Thank you! You… you’ve no idea what it means to me. What _he_ means to me.”

“I only hope he’s worth the price you’ve agreed to pay,” the Dark One replied, his hand still firmly enveloping her own. “Which we shall begin working towards tomorrow eve.”

Emma cocked her head to one side, brows deeply furrowed. “What?”

A cunning grin pulled at his lips. “You agreed to give me your firstborn child, did you not?”

“I… yes?”

“Well…” his pregnant pause and suggestively raised brows caused Emma’s heart to palpitate painfully in a vice of dreadful understanding his next words clamped into place. “With no husband to assist in the matter, how else did you presume to give me your firstborn?”

“You… you expect me to…”

“I expect you to make good on your end of the bargain,” he stated without a hint of compassion, gripping her hand tightly as a dark shadow seemed to slither over his features.

As quickly as it appeared, the spectre retreated, shaken off with a growl reverberating from deep within the Dark One’s chest. He released her hand as though it had scalded him and stomped back towards his vault without a backward glance.

“The choice is yours, love,” he bit out through tightly clenched teeth. “If you wish your father to remain in good health, then present yourself at my castle tomorrow at sundown. There you will remain until our business is concluded.”

A cloud of red smoke enveloped him before Emma could muster any sort of response, and in an instant, he was gone. The remaining streams of daylight were snuffed out soon after, leaving Emma truly alone in the darkness, both natural and one of her own making.

Sinking down to her knees, she buried her face in her hands and wept. What had she done? How could she have been fool enough to think she could out fox the Dark One?


	2. Chapter 2

Emma drew the strings of her satchel taut and tied them together before slinging it over her shoulder. Wiping away the errant tear sliding down her cheek, she cast her eyes around her room with a heavy heart. With her father and brother in the barn, seeing to the animals, and her mother bustling about in the kitchen, Emma knew this would be her one chance to sneak away. Her one chance to ensure the magic that was currently sustaining her father would hold true.

Her arrival home the previous evening had been a bittersweet one. Her family had all been gathered before the fire, her father’s complexion once again ruddy and virile with no evidence of the deathly pall that had gripped it when she’d left to seek out the only recourse they had left. She couldn’t bring herself to turn those smiles into the looks of horror she knew would follow once she confessed the truth of what she’d done, so she’d remained silent, soaking in the love and happiness as best she could, all the while burdened with her ghastly secret.

Creeping into the living area, Emma was careful to not make a sound as she slipped the note she’d penned for her parents onto the mantle. Within its pages were the words she had not the courage to speak the night before. She knew her father would be devastated - him and her mother both - that he would rail in anger, declaring he’d rather die than see her become a vessel for the Dark One’s unnatural spawn. Her mother would be torn, caught in a cruel game of choice between seeing her beloved husband succumb to the terrible disease he’d just been cured from and the unspeakable acts - of which Emma knew she would not be able to bring herself to envision - her daughter would have to endure at the hands of such a monster.

A monster.

Emma had to keep reminding herself of that fact. The Dark One was evil incarnate, a beast twisted by ancient darkness, incapable of displaying any humanity at all. Which begged the question… What did the Dark One want with a child? And not just any child. A child of his own making, sired by his own seed?

A shudder rippled over her skin and her mind slammed shut against the invading images produced in the wake of those thoughts. Images that made her skin prickle and a funny feeling swoop low in her belly, causing her to bring her hands to rest against her abdomen. How long would it take before she began to swell with his child? How many nights would she have to endure the feel of his hands, the touch of his lips, the thrust of his…

“Emma,” her mother called out from the kitchens amid the clanging of pots. “Come give me a hand, would you?”

Suddenly flushed and breathless, Emma retreated back towards her room and gently closed the door to muffle her answer. “I’ll be right there!”

Catching her breath, she made one last sweep of her room, ensuring she had all she needed before throwing open her window and climbing over the sill. Her heart clenched when she looked back over her shoulder once she made it to the cover of the trees outlining the edge of the forest. The wisping spiral of smoke climbing out of the chimney towards the sky, the bleat of the animals contently munching away in the pasture, the sweet smell of the grasses swaying in the late morning breeze, the final sights, sounds, and smells of home that would have to sustain her until such a time she could return.

Though, she knew the girl departing now would not be the same one to reunite with her family one day. Not once the Dark One was through with her.

It took many weary hours to make her way to the Dark One’s castle. Fortress was more like it, with its high, imposing walls and ghoulish gargoyles sneering down at her. The entire structure warned any who might draw near to turn back while they still could, even as the fortified gate at the entry was raised in a manner of welcome. When Emma reached the tall, solid doors at the castle’s entrance, they swung wide with a binding creak of its hinges before she even had a chance to knock.

Enchantment rippled over her skin as she crossed the threshold, the whole of the composition erected out of stone and wood vibrating with a deep magic she could feel quivering in the marrow of her bones. Where she had expected to be overcome with a sense of foreboding, it never came. Simple curiosity at the intrigue of the place flooded her, as did a feeling of… solace? Something akin to a balm for an ache she did not know she’d possessed soothed over her, releasing the tension in her shoulders and causing her to lower her guard.

“I was hoping it’d be you,” the silky notes of the Dark One’s lilt caressed their way toward her from where he was approaching.

Gone was the leather overcoat and matching vest. His suspenders, left hanging at his sides, paired with the bareness of his feet and the openness of his sheer blouse, gave him a much more relaxed appearance than she’d ever thought could be attributed to him. Heat flared across her cheeks when she realized she’d been caught staring at his exposed chest, the richness of the hair displayed making her fingertips tingle in what she felt was a rather odd response, especially given the amused, cocked brow and smirk he was sending her way. She snapped her eyes down to her feet, her blush deepening at the croon of his words.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” His toes entered her frame of vision, his body pressing into her personal space as his fingers tucked themselves under her chin and prompted her eyes back up to his. “If you’d like to see more, all you have to do is ask. No need to stand on ceremony, given the agreement between us.”

Emma gasped and wrenched herself away from him when she realized how close she’d allowed his lips to get to her own. She had no doubt he’d take liberties from her soon enough, no need to make it easy for him.

Tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, he let go a slightly exasperated breath before waving at her to follow him. “Come, then. I’ll show you to your room so you can rest before dinner.”

He must have sensed that she hadn’t made a move to accompany him, stopping at the bottom of the grand staircase before turning back with an impatient look of expectation.

“Well?”

“M- _My_ room?” Emma questioned, the confusion over his words evident in her tone and expression.

“Aye,” he replied with a bit of a drawl, his brows raising as an amused huff left his lungs when he seemed to comprehend her bewilderment. “I see. You were perhaps expecting _ravishment_ the moment you set foot over the threshold?”

The slide of his tongue over his lower lip before it became caught between his teeth, the pull on its tender flesh leaving it red as though stained by wine of the deepest crimson knocked Emma off kilter once more, suppressing her awareness of his return until he was once again nearly pressed against her.

“I assure you, love,” he continued on, his voice weaving a trance over her as it fell an octave, the deep baritone reverberating in places within her it had no business finding. “All you have to do is say the word, and we can forego the repose and repast in favor of more… _enjoyable_ activities.”

Emma blinked her way out of the haze his presence was radiating over her. “You mean you’re not going to… insist?”

His knuckles lightly brushed the apple of her cheek before the pads of his fingers trailed down her arm, a skittering of sparks igniting beneath his touch. “Make no mistake that I would like nothing more than to carry you over my shoulder to my chambers above, claim the rights I have to you under the deal _you_ freely made, enjoying the wonder and gifts of your body until dawn.”

“What’s stopping you, then?” Emma asked. Surprising herself with how much the question sounded like a challenge.

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but it was not reflected within those forget-me-not eyes of his. “I am many things, love. Scoundrel, pirate… Dark One.” The last moniker was clipped out with a tone of disgust Emma had not been expecting. “But I am also a man with a code.”

“Are you seriously telling me that _now_ you want to be a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman,” he purred, stepping impossibly closer. “Which means when I finally do succeed in winning that coveted invitation into your bed and between your thighs... and I will win it,” he stated with certainty. “It won’t be because of any force or trickery on my part. It’ll be because you want me.”

“And if that day never comes?” Emma didn’t want to be caught in another deal she did not fully understand. If he meant what he said about not forcing her, that her compliance in fulfilling her part of the deal was a necessity he would insist upon, what would that mean for her father?

As if he’d read her thoughts, he responded, “One day your father _will_ die. No magic I possess will ever be able to stop that natural progression from happening.” His face twisted with contemplation as a thought suddenly came to him, making him shrug and quip, “Unless he gets hold of my dagger and stabs me in the back with it, turning himself into the Dark One. I imagine he’s angry enough to do just that given the _horrors_ he’s been imagining with you being completely at my mercy.”

His raised brow seemed to anticipate a response from her. “I, uh… I’m sure he is,” she replied tentatively. “I wouldn’t really know though. I didn’t… I didn’t tell them about our deal. I, um… left a note.”

His laugh unnerved her, not because it was in any way sinister or menacing, but because it was rich and full. Something else that enticed her to him when she should be holding her ground, staving his advances.

“As I was saying,” he continued once his moment of mirth passed. “As long as you remain here, where I can attempt to woo you into _satisfying_ our deal, your father will remain in good health, but will not be spared the curse of aging. Should you not provide me with the agreed upon price, then at the time of his passing you will be released from our deal, but will have missed out on all you could have experienced. The life paid in exchange for his will have been your own. Is that really what you want?”

Was it? Was she willing to waste her life behind these walls, separated from her family for decades only for the sake of her pride? For, if she were truly honest with herself, that’s all that was holding her back. Pride at not being thought of as some common whore who would spread her legs for the first man to ever stir within her a sense of longing so viceral it manifested itself as a dampness between her thighs and an ache so deeply rooted in her core she had no way of soothing it without his particular expertise.

Fortunately, she was saved from having to answer when her stomach protested its neglect.

“Come,” he asserted once more, taking her by the hand and prompting her forward. “It would not do for you to perish in my foyer from exhaustion and starvation before the fun can even begin.”

“Fun?”

“Oh, aye,” he said with a wink. “Wooing a fair maiden offers a specific type of fun I’ve not experienced in many years.”

Emma swallowed down the flare of jealousy his words sparked, wondering who the last maiden was to make a similar deal as she. Had he fathered a child once before? Several perhaps? Was she to be another in a long line of conquests for a man who had grown bored of a life eternal?

Fortified by the outrage she felt at becoming another bauble he would grow weary of playing with once the _deal_ was done, Emma began to quarry her obstinate pride in order to construct a wall that might preserve her dignity, no matter what flattery he might weaponize against her.

“Here we are, love,” he crooned, opening a set of mahogany doors that revealed a lavish room.

Jerking her hand from his grip she marched past without giving him the satisfaction of her awed expression and muttered, “I am _not_ your love. My name is Emma. Emma Swan.”

If he was taken aback by the bite of her words, he did not show it. Instead he bowed low and gave her a rakish smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Swan.” Looking up at her from beneath his lashes, the fringe of his hair falling haphazardly across his brow, his smile softened, and his words rang with a sincerity she hadn’t yet heard from him. “KillianJones. At your service.”

**~/~**

Emma stretched and rolled onto her side, punching at her pillow in yet another attempt to get comfortable. The Dark One… _Killian_ had told her to rest and that he would send for her once dinner was ready, but Emma could find no peace in the luxuriant four post bed. Nor in the extravagant room in which her family’s entire farm house could dwell. The expanse of it was too much, the openness as restrictive as she imagined any cell in his dungeon might be, and she had no doubt that a number of cells existed beneath his palatial estate.

The silence of the room was most likely meant to be calming, but Emma was too accustomed to the noises of a busy farm and her family. The loneliness of the quiet seeped into her while she lay there in the dark. Was it his intention to drive her to him out of a sheer need for companionship? Or perhaps the exquisite room, with its rich wooden furnishings and lush textiles was his first attempt at wooing her. Perhaps he thought the chamber would meet the needs of her comfort, fostering a feeling of gratitude towards his generosity?

Whatever his game, Emma would not swoon so easily at such tactics. He could parade all manner of grandeur before her, it did not change the fact he only saw her as a means to gain the prize he sought. A prize that still baffled her. The magic might require a life for a life, but what use was a child to a creature of such darkness?

Emma shuddered, not wishing to ponder the question any further and gave up on the idea of rest in favor of exploring her surroundings. She was just examining a fine gown of luscious jade silk, one of many such gowns hanging within the wardrobe, unable to resist holding it up to herself in the reflection of the full length mirror while considering how it would look on her should she wear it to dinner, when something slid beneath her door. Setting the dress aside, Emma retrieved the item, a letter, penned in an elegant script.

_My Dearest Swan,_

_Would you honor me with the pleasure of your company in the dining hall? I had some delicacies prepared in celebration of your arrival, and abhor the thought of partaking in their delights all on my own._

_The wall sconces will light your way should you choose to join me. I wait with hopeful anticipation of your arrival._

_Yours,_

_Killian_

_P.S. Wear the green dress, love. It does wonders for your complexion and eyes… to say nothing of how I imagine it will look on your figure._

Emma glanced back at the gown on the bed. _How did he…?_ Her eyes then flicked over to the standing mirror. She’d heard about mirror magic from her mother. Was he watching her? Snatching the coverlet off the bed, Emma threw it over the mirror, closing off the potential access. Hands on her hips, she considered the gown before her. While she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acquiescing to his somewhat demanding request, she couldn’t help but wonder what his response would be if she refused.

He didn’t seem the type to take a rebuff lightly.

Still, Emma had her pride, and she wouldn’t dress for the man’s approval. She would, however, change into the other dress she’d brought; one that was not riddled with wrinkles and smelled of a day’s travel. Her mother had raised her with some semblance of manners, after all.

No sooner had she shed the traveling gown, when it and her alternate vanished, leaving the gowns he’d provided in the massive wardrobe - including the jade one he’d requested she wear - as her only recourse. Emma balled her fists and cursed the man under her breath, half tempted to arrive for dinner in nothing more than her shift out of sheer defiance, only to recognize he would probably find the look preferable to that of the sensually cut gowns.

Adorned in green silk, Emma followed the flicker of the sconces until she arrived at the candle lit dining room. A long, ornately carved table stretched over ornamental carpets, a wall of windows flanking one side, revealing the inky blackness of the forest with tiny pinpricks of light visible over the treetops where she could just make out the stars. Oddities were on display throughout the cavernous room, upon bookshelves and pedestals, many quivering with an oppressive aura that chilled Emma’s insides.

No sooner had she begun to inspect the curiosities than her host appeared in a swirl of red, adorned in the leather trousers and sheer blouse of smoke she’d come to associate with him, with the addition of a high collared black vest.

Bowing low, he took her hand and applied a kiss to its back before straightening. “I am glad to see you acquiesced to my request.” His eyes raked over her, a slow and methodical study that had Emma fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze, “on both the invitation to dine with me _and_ the dress.”

Emma glared at him, a sardonic smile pulling at her lips. “Not that I had much choice on either account.”

Killian feigned offense as he held out his arm for her to take so he might escort her to the table. “I would not have starved you, love. If you’d chosen to remain in your room I would have sent up a nice broth and crust of bread. As for your ensemble,” he dropped her arm and turned in towards her, pressing in close as he was wont to do, “you could have shown up wearing nothing at all. I assure you, I wouldn’t have minded in the least. Though, you do cut quite the figure in that dress.”

She absolutely should _not_ wish to preen in response to those words or the wink that followed. Instead, she shifted her focus to the table and the bounty that was set upon it, her mouth watering at the sight and smells of such delicacies she’d only ever heard about. Once again her stomach rolled with hunger, and Emma found herself quite eager to tuck in to the meal before her rather than the unappealing idea of broth and bread.

Looking about, she spied only one chair, carved to match the rich details of the table, clearly meant to seat the head of the household, who was currently lowering himself onto the cushion. Perhaps, since he was so accustomed to dining alone, he had forgotten to procure a second chair for her?

“Your seat is right here, love,” he stated, patting the top of his leg with a challenging arch to his brow and a seductive quirk of his lips.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you wish to dine with me, then you shall do so upon my lap.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, meeting the intensity of his stare while she warred with herself. Loathe as she was to walk away from the tempting tidbits crafted and arranged for her pleasure, Emma wasn’t about to debase herself in such a manner. Broth and bread would have to do after all.

The swish of her skirt from the spin she’d employed in order to exit the dining room had barely silenced when the rough velvet of his voice called out, “Have you ever had chocolate, love?”

Emma halted her retreat. Chocolate? She’d had the decadent treat only once in her life. A flouncy dressed woman had offered it to her the day of her brother’s birth. _A token of celebration_ , she’d bleated in a haughty tone. When questioned by her parents where she’d gotten the indulgence, Emma had been met with a stern lecture from her father. The strange woman with the shepherd's crook was not to be trusted. She could practically hear his assertion that the same manner of caution be applied to this moment, where instead of a ruffled trimmed, crook wielding high-born lady it was a leather clad, hook flourishing scoundrel offering up the extravagance.

A gratified moan sounded from the end of the table, drawing Emma’s attention. Killian licked the remnants of melted chocolate from his fingers before reaching for another square of the dark confection.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”

_What a loaded question_. Emma knew he meant more than the piece of chocolate he was currently taunting her with. The aim of his temptations were far more carnal in nature.

Killian stood and sauntered over to her, the chocolate softening from the heat of his finger and thumb. “Here, love. Have a small taste of what I’m offering before you go.”

Presenting the indulgence to the seam of her lips, he arched his brow and awaited her response, daring her to take the offering. Not one to back down from a challenge, Emma opened her mouth before she could admonish herself for playing right into his hands. Placing the luscious square of softened chocolate on her tongue, his thumb lingered, briefly caught on her closing lips forcing her to suck off some of the richness before he slipped it and his finger into his own mouth to lap up the rest. Emma’s eyes fluttered shut from the provocative sight as much as the sultry feel of the chocolate liquifying in the heat of her mouth. The bitterness tinged with notes of vanilla and toasted nuts flooded her senses as the sinful sweet slid down her throat, leaving her with a craving for more.

When she opened her eyes, she found the Dark One standing before her, his eyes dilated with a thin ring the color of midnight surrounding his pupils. Silently, he held out his hand, beckoning her to join him at the table. With the decadent aroma still infused in her sinuses, Emma placed her hand in his and followed him to the lone chair where she slipped onto his lap without further protest.

“Perhaps we should begin with something a tad more substantial for your sustenance,” he suggested in a low, husky murmur. His hooked arm was wrapped around her waist, steadying her as he reached forward and plucked a shell off a tray glistening with frost, magically keeping the contents chilled. Once again, he held up the provision, insisting she eat it from his hand.

“What is it?”

“An oyster,” he answered. “An exquisite speciality I acquired from a nearby maritime kingdom.”

Unsure of how to proceed, Emma stammered, “How, um… how do I…”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” He brought the shell up to his lips, slurping the opaque flesh from within into his mouth and swallowing it down with an evident bob of his Adam’s apple. Retrieving another from the tray, he held it up for her. “Now you.”

Emma mimicked his actions. It had a brininess she’d anticipated, but the citrus was unexpected. Did one serve it with lemon? Her face pinched in disgust when she bit down on it, earning her a chuckle she could feel rumbling in the chest she was perched against.

“Don’t chew,” he instructed with a rasp on his breath. “You’re meant to swallow it, Swan.”

That last bit of advice definitely had a suggestive undertone to it, but Emma did not have the necessary knowledge or experience to decipher its full meaning. Swallowing the oyster down, she shivered at the feel of its descent, unsure whether she cared for that particular bit of seafood. No matter, though. The table was laden with a plethora of provisions, each one extended to her from her host’s hand.

After she’d had her fill, cosily reclined against his solid form and polishing off the wine he’d refilled in her goblet numerous times, Killian’s voice reminded her that, other than the chocolate and oyster from earlier, he had yet to enjoy any of the delights before them.

“If you would, do me the favor of repaying in kind?”

Killian’s questioning eyes stayed trained on Emma’s face, his words a clear request and not a command. Perhaps it was the sated feeling in her belly, or the wine pleasantly coursing through her veins that made her so bold as to set down her glass and grab a spear of asparagus, sprinkled with shavings of a hard cheese she’d forgotten the name of, and tease the seam of his lips with the tip of its stalk. His brow quirked amusedly as he opened his mouth, sinking his teeth into the tender shoot and biting off a morsel. When he came back to polish off the rest, Emma yanked it back and popped it into her own mouth, smirking at him as she chewed.

“Quite the greedy little minx, aren’t you?” he growled, eyes hooded by his sinking brows.

Emma replied with a saucy shrug of her shoulders, shifting in his lap so she could reach for another bite of something to tease him with. Her movements had his hand squeezing her knee where it rested, a groan reverberating from his chest. Fearing she may have hurt him in some way, she turned back to face him. Her breath caught at the expression upon his face, the desire swimming in his forget-me-not eyes, and the ardor she felt swelling beneath her backside.

A gasp rushed past her lips, parting them and drawing his eyes as his own lips parted, sticking in the corners before he ran his tongue over them. Her heart began to hammer wildly, her breathing a bit shallower, and before she knew it her hand was grasping onto his shoulder when his mouth surged forward to devour her own.

A heady rush clouded her mind. All she could seem to focus on was the taste of his tongue as it swiped against hers, the press of his supple lips, his hand gliding up her leg until it rested on her hip, and the pant of his breath mingling with the gasps of her own. Her skin flared to life when his attention moved to the column of her throat, his head dipping down so his teeth could graze over her collarbone. With a flick of his wrist, the table cleared and Emma was suddenly hoisted into his arms before being deposited atop its surface.

His large hand splayed across her back, allowing her to recline against it when she fell onto her elbows. His hook set a path towards the bodice of the green dress, the sound of torn fabric filling her ears moments before she felt the damp heat of his mouth latch onto her breast. Emma’s head fell back, the weight of her body braced on one forearm as she brought a hand up to cup the back of his head, carding her fingers through the riotous strands.

Now balanced on his hooked arm draped across her back, Emma felt a ripple cross her flesh as his rough, calloused hand snaked its way beneath her skirts, prompting her knees further apart so he could occupy the space between. More wrenching of silk and his mouth migrated to the neglected skin of her other breast, his teeth and tongue merciless in their intent to coax her nipples into painfully hardened peaks. Distracted as she was from the equisite torture, she had not anticipated his hand’s aspiration until it reached the wet apex of her thighs. Jolted by the contact, she canted her hips which only seemed to give him better access to his desired goal.

A goal to fully enlighten her as to what true pleasure was.

With the moisture he’d gathered from her most intimate of places, he began massaging a spot that had all manner of sounds emanating from her while still clutching him to her breast. The embers of desire that had been smoldering through their tantalizing meal ignited into an inferno skittering over her skin, leaving a flush of radiating heat in its wake. Emma sat up sharply, letting go of her hold on Killian’s hair and anchoring herself to his biceps when he slipped a finger inside her, the feeling altogether too much, yet she nearly begged him for more.

“That’s it, love. See how good I can make you feel?” he murmured into her skin, a second finger sinking into her, working its magic in tandem with the first. “And this is only the beginning, Swan.”

True to his word, the pleasure she’d begun to feel intensified when his fingers curled within. The pace he set in their withdrawal and return, coupled with the pressure the heel of his hand was applying to the sensitive nub between her legs, had her increasing her grip on his arms as she threw her head back, a silent scream caught in her throat as a burst of euphoria began to roll through her body.

“That’s it. That’s it, love,” Killian encouraged, sucking a brand into the tender flesh of her breast while his hand mercilessly kept pace, drawing out her ecstacy to the point she almost lost all comprehension of what it was he was groaning into her flesh. “Bloody hell, I can’t wait to be inside you. To feel these tight walls of yours around my cock. Milking me dry I as I fill you.”

Vaguely aware his hook had removed itself from her torn bodice, Emma heard rustling as he used the appendage to begin loosening the laces of his trousers. His mouth grazed up her chest, blazing a trail back across her collarbone and up her throat. The hot vapor of his breath glanced off her cheek and rippled over her ear, pulling a moan from her even as she convulsed from the vestiges of her release and the shock of cool metal against her leg where he was working her skirts higher.

“Tell me, love,” he whispered into her ear. “When did you last bleed? Will tonight be merely practice for us, or is your womb already ripe and ready for me?”

His fingers slipped from her, and Emma whimpered, her eyes fluttering open as her mind desperately sought to derive meaning from the words he’d just spoken. It wasn’t until her eyes caught sight of his exposed member, already hard in his hand and coated with the dampness he’d procured from her that she acknowledged his intent. Realization slammed into her and she began to push him away.

“Stop. Please.”

His reaction was immediate. Stepping back so she could scramble away, he reluctantly tucked himself back into his trousers while she positioned herself with the table between them, using it as a barrier of separation as she covered her bare chest with her arms.

“Something I said?”

The cool, detached tone in his question slapped her across the face, and Emma couldn’t stop the anger rising within her. Outrage, fueled every bit as much by her own humiliation at having given in so easily, as it was the calculated means by which he’d nearly succeeded in achieving his goal.

“You would just take me on a table like a… like a…”

“Like a what, love?”

“Like a common doxy in a tavern!”

“I confess I haven’t spent time in a tavern in quite a while, but I don’t remember the patrons going at it on the tables,” he quipped with a rakish swagger. “Most proprietors would frown at that, I’d wager. That’s what the rooms upstairs are for.”

“So, you wouldn’t even give me the decency of the same treatment as a slattern? You expect me to give myself to you, bear your child without regard to my comfort or reputation?”

Was a quick tryst on the table all she was really worth to him? Of course, it was. All they had between them was an agreement, a business transaction she had foolishly entered into without fully comprehending the terms.

A fact he was quick to remind her of.

“You’re the one who agreed to giving me your first born in exchange for your father’s life, Swan. I did not force you to make this deal.”

“I know that,” she snapped at him, tears burning in her eyes. “But I’d planned to be married before giving a man such liberties, and most assuredly expected to become a wife before becoming a mother.”

“Come now, love,” he scoffed. “We both know you had no intentions of meeting the terms of the deal that way. In fact,” he took a step forward, his hook grazing over the top of the immaculate table while his eyes never wavered from hers, “you had no intentions of meeting the terms at all.”

Nonplussed, Emma opened and closed her mouth a number of times. “How did you--”

“You are something of an open book, love,” he stated, his demeanor softening momentarily before the stoniness returned to his visage. “And even if you had entered into our agreement with honest intentions, how do you think a prospective husband would react upon learning his progeny was destined to be raised by another man?”

Emma raised challenging brows at him, her voice ratcheting up in volume. “You think you’re doing me a favor by demanding the child be your own?”

“Aren’t I?” He shrugged, taking another step forward and toying with the end of his hook. “What sort of attachment do you think you’ll feel towards any babe sired by me, a man you hold no affection or fealty towards? How much pain am I saving you by keeping things strictly business?”

“Strictly business?” The hollow feeling she’d felt after pulling away from him returned at his confirmation that she meant nothing more to him than what their deal demanded. But… “You said you planned to woo me.”

Killian barked out a harsh laugh. “Aye, love. I plan to woo your body, not your heart. I’ve no need of your affections, those you can save for whatever fool husband you choose to bind yourself to once our business is concluded.”

His words were paired with callous gesticulations, but neither his tone nor his mannerisms convincingly carried the cruel sentiments they were meant to. She’d always had a knack for parsing out falsehoods in other’s words, and something about his weren’t ringing true. He must have sensed her perceptiveness, her hesitation in accepting his words at face value. Narrowing his eyes, he brushed his thumb over his bottom lip and stalked towards her.

“Now. Shall we get back to it? We were just getting to the good part.”

Not willing to trust what her instincts were telling her, that he was more than this cold, unfeeling, heartless monster he seemed to want to make her believe he was, Emma held up one hand while keeping herself covered with the other, and shook her head at him. He paused his approach, a deep sigh escaping his lungs while his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth.

“Fine,” he clipped. “You’ll excuse me then if I do not stay for dessert.” Before he could disappear in another swirl of smoke, he quipped, “I find myself in need of a cold and bracing dip in the bath.”

Once alone, Emma found her dress had been repaired. The memory of how it had become torn in the first place blazed across her cheeks as she quickly left the dining room with an ache in her chest and throbbing between her thighs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

Morning’s pleasant glow inched over the thick carpets, creeping up towards the bed Emma had somehow found refuge in the night before after returning to her room, despondent. She’d laid awake for hours, haunted by the memory of Killian’s warm breath, the heat of his hand, the caress of his lips, the way his touch brought her to life and his words made her yearn for things her body never knew it wanted before.

Other words had tormented her as well; harsh declarations she still hadn’t been convinced were sincere as they echoed in her ears throughout the night. She could not reconcile the man who had scoffed at her wishes that there be some manner of affection between them, with the man who had shown her such deference since her arrival.

While his intentions last night hadn’t exactly been proper in the truest sense of the word, Emma couldn’t overlook his insistence that she be a willing participant in their activities. He had the power to force compliance from her, but he hadn’t, even when temptation had been wantonly splayed across his dining table, trembling from its own completion. He had respected her enough to heed her refusal to take matters any further, and had honored her wishes without applying undue pressure to his seduction.

And if she were being truly honest with herself, it would not have taken much more in the way of enticement from him in order to get her into his bed.

Lying awake during the dark hours of the night, with nothing but her ruminations and the memory of his touch, she had nearly abandoned all resolve. More than once she’d made it to the door of her room, intent on seeking him out so he might placate the ache left behind, all the while chastising herself for such weakness. Regardless of how the man had made her feel, the terms he’d set were clear. She was a means to an end and nothing more. Nevertheless, Emma couldn’t stop herself from wondering if he might be capable of seeing her as more than what she’d accused him of the previous evening. More than just another deal to be sealed.

She had to be practical now, though. In the stark light of day, though her passions still simmered beneath the surface, she had to remain strong in her convictions.

Convictions that included his assurance that any child they _might_ create together would not be used in the course of some nefarious scheme. For she could no longer delude herself with dedications of resistance. Temptation _would_ get the better of her sooner or later. A certainty she was willing to relent, considering she was already eager for it to be sooner, despite her natural trepidations as a maiden.

As to any consideration of affection? Such thoughts she relinquished as longings of childish whimsy and flights of fancy, which had no place in the reality she found herself in. She had made a deal, and though the price was not one she had intended on paying, she now found herself not wholly against the necessities required to satisfy her outstanding debt.

Besides, the sooner their business was concluded, the sooner she could return home, to people who _did_ care for her and gave of their affections freely.

With the matter settled in her own mind, Emma threw off the blankets and began her usual morning routine. It was as she was slipping her shoes onto her feet that she saw it. Another letter had been delivered beneath her door.

_My Dearest Swan,_

_Please accept my sincerest apologies._

_My behavior last night was the height of bad form, and though I do not at all regret the more intimate aspects of our evening, I am grieved by how I left things between us._

_I am also sorry that I will not be available today to make these amends in person. There is a pressing matter I must see to, so I therefore invite you to take the day to explore the castle and grounds as you wish._

_I shall endeavor to make up for my behavior when I return to you._

_Yours,_

_Killian_

Emma wanted to stamp her foot in exasperation. The man was maddening! Just when she was ready to face him with detached pragmatism, he sends her a letter that has her heart fluttering and longing for his return.

What sort of game was he playing at?

Having spent too much time in thoughts of the Dark One and his even darker allure, Emma determined to put him out of her mind and, instead, spent time exploring. The grounds around the castle were simply stunning, with the vibrancy of the trees displaying their vanity in hues of red, yellow, and orange leaves. Late blooms of fragrant flowers flourished within the gardens, leading to a small reflection pool nestled along the backside of the castle. Emma sat upon a small stone bench, wrapping her shawl around her to ward off the chill of the shadows, and relaxed in the quiet moment of the late morning until midday hunger prompted her to return.

Feeling refreshed from her stroll, and the purposeful focus towards more tranquil thoughts, she crossed the threshold, and was taken aback to find a stout man with a red knit cap calling out for a hook in the entry.

“Can I help you?” she asked, startling the man who quickly whipped off his cap.

“Pardon me, Miss,” he greeted with a jovial smile. “I’m William Smee. I’m here to see Hook.”

“Who?”

Her perplexed tone and expression had the man floundering. “H-Hook. You know… the Dark One?”

Choosing to ignore the moniker for the moment, Emma told him, “He isn’t here.” Then muttered, “Which is probably best, for your sake.”

“Oh?” Smee questioned, slipping his cap back onto his head. “Why’s that?”

“Because no one comes out on the better end of one of his deals,” she sighed. “I should know.”

Smee balked at her statement. “He made a deal? With you?”

“You seem surprised by that.”

“I am!” he stated with a bit of a chortle. “I thought I was the only one he’d ever made a deal with.”

Emma’s brows scrunched together. “But… the stories. The items littering this castle that reek of deals gone wrong, they--”

“All belonged to his predecessor, Rumplestiltskin,” he informed her. “Hook didn’t realize what he was getting into by seeking his revenge against that old crocodile. Became the Dark One, not wanting anything to do with the power it gave him, but he became a slave to the Darkness nonetheless.”

Intrigued by what Smee knew, and seemed willing to share about the man who continued to be an enigma to her, Emma invited Smee into the nearby drawing room and gestured for him to have a seat before pressing him for more information. “Why did he want revenge against the former Dark One?”

“For taking his hand and the love of his life,” Smee prattled on. “We spent decades in Neverland trying to find a way to kill the beast. It was Pan who told us about the dagger, but he failed to mention the price one paid in using it. Hook was devastated when he learned the truth, too late.”

“Why do you call him Hook?”

“That’s his name,” he said, as though it were obvious. “Captain Hook. It’s what I’ve always called him.” Leaning in with a glint of keen interest in his eye, Smee asked, “Why? What do you call him?”

“Killian,” she told him with a shrug of her shoulders. “He told me his name was Killian Jones.”

“He asked you to call him Killian?” Smee clarified with incredulity. “I don’t think anyone has called him that since Mi... uh, since _her_.”

“Her?” Emma questioned, a stone falling into the pit of her stomach as she remembered, “The woman he loved? The one the previous Dark One killed?” Smee nodded solemnly. “Why won’t you say her name?”

“Cap’n doesn’t like it,” he told her, his tone brimming with a firm loyalty towards the man he’d once served.

The man he’d served and later made a deal with. Apparently, the only deal the current Dark One had made... until he’d made one with her.

“Mr. Smee?” Emma hedged, uncertain if she really wanted to ask it of him or not. “What deal did you make with him?”

A soft smile lifted the corners of the man’s mouth, but it was wrapped in a sadness Emma could almost feel penetrating to the very center of her being.

“Before the curse,” he began. “Hook was captain of the _Jolly Roger_. A magnificent ship made of enchanted wood. When he became the Dark One…” His words fell away, as if finding the right ones pained him. “Well, let’s just say he and the ship didn’t get on too well afterward. Too much of a clash between his dark magic and the light magic she was enchanted with.” Smee’s eyes fell towards the floor, his voice growing thick with emotion. “It broke his heart to turn away from the sea and the vessel he loved, but remaining at her helm would have crippled her.”

After a long moment, Smee cleared his throat and turned his gaze back to her, shaking off the melancholy as he finished the tale. “So, he offered me a deal. He agreed to renew my age each year, so I would never grow old, if I agreed to be her captain and look after her. We’ve each held to that agreement for nearly two hundred years.”

“Two hundred years?” Emma marveled, her mouth hanging open in stupefaction.

“Aye,” Smee affirmed with a chuckle at her expense. “Which is why I’m here. Time to renew the terms of our agreement.”

Two hundred years? And in all that time he’d only made two deals?

“If I may be so bold as to ask,” Smee spoke with a similar hesitation her tone had carried when she’d asked of him, “What deal did you make with him?”

Emma’s cheeks flushed. “I, uh… I asked him to spare my father’s life,” she told him. “In exchange…” She was tempted to lie, to simply tell him she was to pay the debt through a term of domesticated service, but his insight on why the Dark One might wish for a child was an opportunity she could not pass up. “The price of my father’s lasting health is that of my first born child.”

Smee’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, and his brows pinched sharply together. All of Emma’s hopes in gaining a newfound perspective were dashed when he inquired, “What the bloody hell would the captain want with a child?” His bewilderment at the circumstance spilled over to her when he asked, “And why would you agree to that? What does your husband think of such an arrangement?”

“I, uh… I have no husband,” she confessed.

“Then how are you supposed to… oh!”

The man’s already ruddy cheeks flamed an even deeper shade of red, as did Emma’s.

“I did not think he meant for the payment to be immediate,” she explained, defensively. “When I agreed, I thought…” Letting go a heavy sigh, she admitted, “Honestly, I thought I could get away with never having to pay the price. I thought he meant to wait until I was married and had a child with my husband, and that if I simply never married, then…”

Smee’s booming laugh jarred Emma from her confession. An offended huff left her lungs as she stared at the man who was doubled over in his amusement.

“You tried to outwit the most notoriously cunning pirate to ever sail the seas?” Smee guffawed. Wiping away the mirth that had leaked from his eyes, he managed to compose himself enough to give her a sympathetic smile. “My dear lass, heed my words. You’ll never beat Hook at his own game. Best to concede defeat, or change the game altogether.”

His shoulders still shaking with laughter, Smee stood and requested. “Will you let the captain know I came by? Tell him he can find me at the docks for the next few days.”

“I will,” Emma replied, standing so she could escort him out.

“You should have him bring you along,” Smee suggested before departing. “Then you could see the _Jolly Roger_ firsthand.”

Emma wasn’t so sure Killian would agree to such a request. Not without an offer of reciprocity. And it did not require too much effort to guess what boon he would seek in trade. Of course, she could offer to begin making good on their deal that very evening if he agreed to her appeal, but then… wouldn’t that make her no better than the slatterns she’d already accused him of treating her as in similar regard?

“We’ll see,” she replied, noncommittally, bidding him goodbye.

After locating the kitchen and fending off her hunger, Emma turned Smee’s words over in her mind as she continued to explore the castle. He was right. Emma could never hope to win against Killian in a game of seduction, but she could change the game altogether. Play by her own rules, as it were. Ensure that while he applied his efforts towards wooing her body, she would be focused on wooing something else. Something she had admonished herself for wanting just that morning. Something, though he’d possessed it once before, he claimed to have no need of or interest in.

A claim she was determined to prove false.

**~/~**

Though her day had been filled with little more than wanderings and musings, Emma found herself quite weary making her way back towards her room as the sun began to set that evening. Coming to the fork in the hallway, the sounds of rushing water prompted her to turn down the corridor that led away from her chamber. Rounding the corner she saw a soft glow emitting from a door that had been left ajar. Upon further inspection, Emma gasped, to find a grand bath, completely encased in marble with a sunken pool in the center of the floor.

Steam wafted from the expansive basin, and along its edge were tiny bottles and a lush sponge. Wasting no time in heeding the siren call of a fresh bath, Emma stripped off her clothes and stepped into the pool. Lowering herself down into the warm, luxuriant waters until she was sat upon her bottom, the water line rippling just beneath her breasts, Emma reached over and began examining the bottles.

A few contained oils, rich and fragrant, that teased the inside of her nose as the aroma wafted up through the steam after she poured out their contents. Others contained cleansers, which she generously applied to the sponge before dipping her head back in order to soak her hair and give it a good washing.

Piling her freshly washed strands atop her head, she reapplied lather to the sponge and set to work on the rest of her body. The gentle scratch of its textured surface felt wondrous over her skin, leaving a pinked trail behind as she scrubbed her arms and legs. The floating steam of the perfectly heated waters, the scent of the aromatic oils she’d added to the bath, and the decadence of the rich lather caressing her skin caused a soft, contented moan to pass her lips as she dipped the sponge between her breasts.

“Need a hand with that, love?”

Emma’s eyes snapped open at the sultry sound of Killian’s voice lightly reverberating off the marbled walls. It took her a moment to remember her nakedness, distracted by the sight of him peeling his suspenders from his shoulders and removing his gossamer shirt by the back of its collar, exposing his toned physique and the blanket of chest hair that had teased her since their first meeting. A smug smirk lifted at the corner of his lips when he began to undo the laces of his trousers, and Emma realized she was still watching him with herself completely exposed to his view as well.

Spinning around so only her bared back faced him, she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Joining you for a bath,” he answered, as if such a thing were commonplace between them. “Would you deny a man a good soaking to ease the stiffness set upon him by a hard day’s work?”

Flicking a furtive gaze over her shoulder when she heard him enter the pool, her eyes took in the rest of his exposed form and she couldn’t help but quip, “I don’t think a bath alone is going to ease that sort of stiffness.”

He chuckled heartily at her unexpected comment, clearly taken aback by her frank and somewhat tawdry statement.

“Aye,” he purred, sinking down into the warm waters and pressing his back against hers as he settled himself. “That will definitely take more than a good soaking in a hot bath to relieve itself, unless, of course, the wet heat required comes from a different source.”

Emma’s breath hitched, the flesh of her back sliding against his. Its marred surface pushed the brazen innuendo from her mind, replaced by questions of how his skin had become so ravaged by scars. Before she could utter any of those inquiries, Killian’s demeanor shifted.

Perhaps taking her silence as a chastisement of his comment, he muttered, “If you do not wish me here, Swan, I will leave. Say the word, and you can continue your bath in peace.” He paused, and though they were still faced in opposite directions, she could practically see the taunting raise of his brow when he accused, “Even if you are the one who intruded.”

“I intruded?” she shot back, water sloshing around her as she turned halfway before remembering her modesty. “I believe you are the one who entered uninvited.”

“Since when does a man need an invitation to partake in the bath he drew for himself in his own home?”

“You… You drew this bath? For yourself?”

“Of course,” he asserted in a tone of ridicule, underlined with a measure of humor. “I conjured it the moment I arrived back. Did you think the bath magically filled itself each night on the off chance someone _might_ wish to partake of it?”

Emma flushed with prickles of mortification. She hadn’t even considered how the bath had been prepared, had simply thought herself fortunate to come upon it when she had.

“I… I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t think.” Pushing off from him, she headed towards the side of the pool. “I should be the one to go.”

“No, wait,” he called out, reaching around and grasping onto her arm before she could exit the luxuriant waters. Their eyes locked when the action spun her, their bodies close enough to touch with some invisible force keeping them a hair’s breadth apart.

“Don’t go,” he whispered in a hushed tone that was half command, half plea. His eyes dropped to where his hand still had a hold of her arm, then slid back up to meet her returning gaze - for it had followed his - as he released her. “I promise, I won’t touch you again unless you wish it. The only pleasure I seek this evening is that of your company.”

Backing away, his eyes held firm to hers. Though he could have had his fill, devouring her nude form with that piercing, forget-me-not gaze of his, he did not allow it to linger elsewhere. Instead, he waited, letting her partake in the feast of his flesh when it was her eyes that broke away from the contact.

Steam had caused either perspiration or condensate to pool in the hollow of his throat, and the same moisture beaded over the coarse hair of his chest. Wilted from the heat infusing the marble lined room, his hair no longer stuck out at odd angles in its typical windswept fashion, the fringe in front hanging down over his forehead and nearly obscuring his brows. His cheeks were flushed, his lips full and slightly parted with a faint glimpse of his tongue peeking out from between his teeth.

A rogue droplet slid down the line of his left arm, and it was then she realized he had shed his hook’s harness and brace along with his garments. The blunted end of his wrist was concealed below the line of the bath lapping at his waist, and she fought to keep her perusal from sinking lower, her eyes swiftly skimming past the stiffness bobbing at the surface between his legs. When she reached his other arm, his hand leisurely gliding through the water as his fingers teased the ripples, she spotted the vibrant ink she’d glimpsed when he’d stopped her from leaving.

Before she could think better of it, she blurted out, “Who’s Milah?”

He froze, and his eyes flashed with a mixture of alarm, anger, and astonishment.

“How did you--”

“Your tattoo,” she indicated with a jut of her chin.

His eyes fell to his forearm and his fist clenched before sinking below the surface of the water. “Someone from long ago,” he gruffed, his eyes still cast downward.

Until she asked, “Was she the woman you loved? The one you killed the last Dark One for in order to avenge her?”

“Where did you hear that?” he demanded, clearly astounded by her knowledge and audacity.

Gliding a bit closer, she positioned her knees beneath her and sat back on her heels, paying no mind to the fact her breasts remained exposed when his gaze slipped down to their rosy tips, hardening from the marginally cooler temperature of the air and the heat of his appreciative stare.

“Mr. Smee came by today,” she told him, calling his attention back to her face.

“Smee?” he replied with a faint hint of fondness. “Bloody hell, has it been a year already?” he asked himself, running his hand through his hair and leaving grooves from his wet fingers. “He told you of our deal, I take it?”

Based on his exasperated tone and knowing expression, Emma knew it wasn’t really a question, but she nodded in response anyway.

“I’ll have to find him at the docks tomorrow,” he mused. “So I can uphold my end of things… and give him a sound lashing for allowing a pretty face to loosen his tongue so treasonously,” he added with a suppressed smirk.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Emma interceded. “I think my presence caught him off guard. He was rather surprised to learn I was here because of a deal.”

Killian hummed, pensively. “And did you tell him the nature of that deal?”

“Yes.”

His brows shot up his forehead. “You did? What did he say?”

Not wanting him to discover her motives for disclosing the information to Smee in the first place, Emma changed course. “Why haven’t you made more deals with people since becoming the Dark One? Smee seemed to think I was only the second one you’ve made.”

Reluctantly, he confessed, “Aye. You are.”

“Why?”

“Because deals are a nuisance,” he responded flippantly, lounging back onto an elbow while appraising her with a sinful sweep of his eyes and equally wicked swipe of his tongue over his lips. “Present one excluded.”

Emma mirrored his body, stretching her legs out next to his and reclining back on her forearms, submerging her breasts beneath the water line. Which promptly began to recede until they were visible once more. Emma cocked her head at his cheeky expression and twitching brows, giving him a withering look that seemed to have no effect on him.

“Can’t blame a man for enjoying the view,” he shrugged, unashamedly. “Especially when touching is off the table.”

“You’re the one who served up that particular stipulation,” she reminded him.

It was his turn to cock his head to one side, straightening back up and leaning forward slightly as he inquired in a husky tone, “Are you offering more than the view, love?”

Emma smirked and coyly flicked her lashes at him. “Maybe I’ll permit a goodnight kiss, if…”

“If?”

When had he gotten so close? He was practically on top of her, yet not an inch of his flesh was pressed against her own. His lips hovered over her mouth, cool droplets from his hair slipping from their strands onto her shoulders and chest.

“If,” she breathed, her exhale bouncing back at her off his mouth. “You tell me more about your life on the sea, and agree to take me with you to the docks tomorrow.”

One of his brows rose and his tongue pressed the back of his teeth as he considered her request. “Very well,” he agreed, backing away with that sensual grace he had about him, and resuming his reclined position from before. “What would you like to know?”

Emma sat up and wet her lips, noting how the action made his eyes darken and a primal sort of sound rumble in his chest. “Smee said you had a ship. The _Jolly Roger_. How did you acquire her?”

A grimace constricted his face before he could school his features, and Emma was about to retract her question when he replied, “I served on her when I was in the Royal Navy. Though, she was christened the _Jewel of the Realm_ back then. I… _commandeered_ and renamed her after turning pirate against my king.”

“What made you turn pirate?”

The muscle at his jaw flickered and he heaved out a heavy exhale as he sat up. “The death of my captain. My brother.”

Emma’s heart clenched painfully. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied, a false tone lacing his words that might lend credence to the idea he was no longer affected by the event. “It was long ago.”

Swallowing nervously, hoping to get him back into a more amiable mood, Emma drew her knees up to her chest and pressed her breasts to the backs of her thighs, plumping her cleavage before inquiring with a saucy tone, “So which do you prefer? Naval service or a pirate’s life?”

A wide grin stretched across his face, the gloom of the previous moment dissipating into the ether, as he professed, “A pirate’s life. It’s forever.”

The wink he applied to give emphasis to his declaration pulled a giggle from her, softening his features.

“You should laugh more,” he told her. Though, based on the quick flicker of surprise that had him averting his gaze from hers, she wondered if he’d meant to say such a thing out loud.

“So should you,” she encouraged softly, reaching out to brush the fringe off his forehead.

His eyes darted back up to hers, his lips parting and sticking in their corners before a pointed smirk and tandemly raised brow accused, “I thought we agreed to no touching, love?”

“No,” she drawled, with a slow shake of her head, her fingers trailing down the side of his face. “ _You_ agreed.”

Another rugged chuckle rolled through his chest, and he changed the angle of his head so her fingertips brushed over his lips, his tongue slipping out to wet them as they passed. Emma narrowed her eyes at him, her expression undeniably calling him a cheat.

“Pirate, love,” he cheeked, unabashedly with a swirl of want further darkening his eyes as they narrowed onto hers.

Pulling her hand away, her breaths coming a bit shallower than they had before, Emma quipped, “I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of pillaging and plundering, huh?”

“Aye,” he rasped, raising up to his knees so she had to crane her neck to keep hold of his gaze. “I would not be opposed to a bit of pillaging and plundering right now.” Lowering his lips, he declared, “So, I’ll be taking that goodnight kiss, if you please.”

Emma scooted back, her eyes beseeching him to follow while her retreat said, not yet.

“Does this mean, you’ll take me with you tomorrow?”

“Aye,” he promised with a slow, predatory advance.

Her back hit the side of the bathing pool. His hand and blunted wrist came up to rest on either side of her, caging her between his arms, yet he still, somehow, had not touched her.

“Just a kiss,” she reminded him. Her eyes dropped to his lips, waiting for hers to meet him halfway.

“On my honor,” he vowed. “Just a kiss.”

She’d been certain that once their lips met the kiss would be as intense as it had been the night before. Lusty and desperate. However, though this one was no less hungry in its undertones, the slide of his mouth was more reverent than she’d been expecting. Soft nips to her bottom lip preceded the request of his tongue to engage with her own, its hot thrust past her teeth drawing a wanton sound from the back of her throat.

And still, maddeningly, no other part of his body grazed her own.

His teeth teased her earlobe, allowing her to gasp in a much needed breath before chastising, “Just a kiss, remember?”

“Aye, love,” he replied in an acquiescing tone. “A goodnight kiss over your entire body.”

Her neck broke out in a ripple of goosebumps as his tongue slid down it, lapping up the errant droplets that clung to her throat. “I’ll keep to my word, don’t you worry,” he murmured over her collarbone. “Unless you give me leave, no part of me, other than what I would use to kiss you, will touch your body. Agreed?”

When she didn’t answer, too overwhelmed by the prospect of how far he could take a mere kiss, he raised his head back up and brushed another across her lips. “Say yes, Swan,” he whispered. “I’ve been craving the taste of you all day.”

She answered with the press of her mouth, her teeth taking hold of his bottom lip and sucking it gently, forcing a growl to rise up within his chest.

Scorching trails of his lips and tongue blazed along her skin. Her back arched off the side of the pool when his mouth latched onto her breast, laving her nipple until it stood upright. Then, pulling it between his teeth, he flicked it relentlessly with his tongue. Each pulsating action echoed as a throb between her thighs, and by the time he was finished with her other breast she was desperate for something to take away the ache.

When his lips reached the flesh just above the surface of the water, she automatically rose up out of the bath so he could proceed further down her body. His tongue swirled over her belly then dipped into her belly button, causing her head to fall back and her breath to stutter. When his teeth grazed over her hip bone, her legs instinctively clamped together.

“I told you, Swan,” Killian rasped, his eyes cast upward so his gaze ran the length of her body until locking onto hers. “I wish to kiss you _everywhere_. If you wish that too… then hop up onto the edge of the pool, and open your thighs for me, love.”

Without taking her eyes from his, she shimmied onto the edge of the bath and began to spread her legs. A wide, feral grin split his face as he moved forward to fill the space between her thighs.

“Good girl,” he praised, before dipping his tongue into her center and dragging it through her sopping folds, wet from both the bath and her own arousal.

Emma cried out and collapsed back onto her forearms, one hand shooting out to grasp the hair of his head as he feasted on her. She nearly left the floor when his tongue flicked over the puckered ring at the back of her intimacy before gliding it back through her slit and swirling it around the bundle of nerves he’d teased with his hand the night before. A vibration of hums quivered off his lips, causing her thighs to tremble as the familiar coiling of impending ecstasy built at the base of her spine, intensifying with every flick and flutter of his wicked tongue and the scrape of his perfect teeth. The fine hairs of her body stood at attention, her blood roared in her ears, and a moan, so guttural she never would have believed it came from her, erupted from her chest when her climax was reached with white hot flashes searing her nerve endings and stars exploding behind her eyelids.

It took several moments for her to pinpoint the sound keeping time with her stuttering pants. Vigorous splashes combined with a slapping of skin, and groans, not of her own making, filled the room. Lifting her head, Emma glanced down the length of her body, still trembling from the force of her release, and watched as Killian worked to bring about his own as the waters of their bath receded around him.

Transfixed at how furiously his hand pumped along the length of his cock, Emma pressed her thighs together, seeking a bit of friction that might help alleviate the fresh ache her renewed desire had placed there. His vocalized breaths grew more desperate, the cords of his neck taut and straining from the angle of his head, thrown back in an almost pained response until his hips jerked and the tension in his face released. Thick, white emissions exploded from the end of his length, shooting across his chest and abdomen while his hand continued to stroke his cock, teasing every last bit of pleasure from the member.

When his hand finally stilled, his eyes fluttered open and immediately found hers. She could only imagine the expression awaiting him on her face.

“Something the matter, love?” he panted, his chest heaving from his exertions.

“You… you didn’t want to… you know. With me?”

His brows lifted and he ran his tongue over his lips. Her cheeks flared when he let go an appreciative moan at the taste of her still lingering upon them. “Is that an invitation?” he inquired, slowly sitting up from where he’d collapsed back. “If so, then give me a few minutes and I’d be more than happy to--”

She bolted upright and closed her legs, an action he clearly did not approve of. “No! No, I just…” She swallowed thickly and marveled, “You kept your word.”

His teeth shifted, his jaw ticking to one side before he questioned, “Does that surprise you?”

“Well, you _are_ the Dark One,” she teased, “and you were a pirate before that.”

“Aye. That I am.” His tone was not what she had meant to produce from him with her harmless jibe. Instead of his usual bravado and swagger, his demeanor turned brooding and pensive.

“Before that, though,” he whispered, as though to himself. “I was something else.”

“What’s that?”

His eyes, swimming with enough remorse and self-hatred, they could have refilled the bathing pool, looked up at her without really seeing her. “A man of honor,” he professed, wistfully. “A man who believed in good form.”

“Killian?” Emma called out to him, gently. “Are you alright?”

Shaking himself from the stupor that had overcome him, Killian’s eyes cleared and darted to hers. He opened his mouth, attempting to form words, but after a moment he snapped it shut and raised his hand. Flicking his wrist, he vanished in a vapor of crimson.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

Emma descended the grand staircase the next morning with uncertainty swirling through her gut. Once again, she’d fallen asleep with a barrage of thoughts and emotions assailing her mind and body, only to find, upon waking, a tray laden with a scrumptious breakfast and another confounding note, reminding her of their outing to the docks and concluding with yet another apology for his behaviour.

It was becoming clearer to her that the man whom she’d bound herself to for the duration of their deal was a mixture of two completely different personalities. While she held no illusions that the man who’d once made his living as a pirate had been free of _all_ semblance of darkness before being cursed, she also sensed a struggle within him to combat a greater evil his aforementioned good form had kept him from fully succumbing to… once upon a time. Now, it was anyone’s guess which entity she would be spending the morning with; the man who’d toyed with villainy, or the villain itself.

She’d find out soon enough, seeing as he was already waiting for her in the grand foyer. Dressed in his standard leather pants and billowy black shirt, he’d chosen to set off the outfit with a red, finely embroidered waistcoat and heavy duster. Draped over his arm was a warm looking cloak, with fine embellishments of its own and trimmed with fur. As she continued to approach him, he opened the cloak in invitation, and she hesitated for only a moment before turning so he could set it over her shoulders and wrap it around her form.

“You look lovely this morning, Swan,” he whispered into her ear, sending a ripple of wonder down her spine. With his hand and hook at her waist, he prompted her to spin back around, facing him, and her heart fluttered at the way he stared down at her. “Ready to go, love?”

She nodded, then gasped when he pulled her in flush with his body. A surprised _yelp_ escaped her, and she threw her arms around his neck when she felt the floor beneath her feet fall away. Plumes of crimson smoke surrounded them, and his arms tightened around her, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest that she felt reverberate through her own as they were magically transported to the docks in an instant.

Squinting past the brightness of the sun, suddenly blinding her from above, Emma could taste the salt of the air on her tongue as the brine of the sea filled her sinuses. A cacophony of sounds echoed through the harbor; the creak of pulleys, the rattle of wagon wheels, shouts and orders being barked out among the various ships unloading their cargo, all playing out a symphony of labor that reminded Emma of the bustle she’d known at her family farm.

“Stay close, love,” Killian said with a hint of command. “The docks can be a treacherous place, even in the daylight.”

Taking her hand, he led her through the maze of bedlam, which nearly slowed to a stand still as they passed. Whether it was the dark aura he gave off, or the knowledge of who he was that made the men give the hook wielding, leather clad pirate and his companion a wide berth, Emma couldn’t say. Nor did she care to ponder, once their destination became clear, and the tall, majestic ship they were making their way towards grabbed her attention.

“Is that her?” Emma asked breathlessly, awed by the sight of its towering masts and intricate web of rigging.

“Aye,” Killian replied, not even attempting to hide the pride her response at seeing his ship stirred within him. “That’s her. The _Jolly Roger_.”

“She’s stunning.”

He stopped and pulled her into his chest, a cheeky and salacious smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just like another fine lady I know,” he purred, his eyes carrying the smoulder of impending heat threatening to set her aflame with his gaze. “And, like you, she is also a marvel.”

Instinctively - though she couldn’t say when it had become instinct, exactly - she tilted her head up in order to welcome his lips, descending towards hers. They’d only just met with a light brush when a voice called out from above, drawing Emma’s focus away from the spark his lips had struck against hers, and up to where Mr. Smee was making his way down the gangplank.

“Ahoy, Cap’n,” Smee greeted, oblivious to the moment he’d just interrupted. “It’s good to see you again, Sir.”

“Smee,” Killian replied, keeping his hooked arm tucked around her waist as he offered his hand to his enthusiastic friend, who shook it vigorously with both hands.

“You got him to bring you along, I see,” Smee whispered conspiratorially in Emma’s direction, making her laugh with his cheeky wink. “Pleasure to see you again, lass.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Smee.” Craning her head back up towards the _Jolly Roger_ , Emma commented, “Though I admit to not having spent much time at the docks, I have never seen a finer ship. She’s breathtaking.”

“Perhaps, if the Captain be agreeable, you’d allow me to give you a tour?”

Emma cast pleading eyes up towards Killian, her lower lip tucked between her teeth as she awaited his verdict. The muscle in his jaw flickered briefly as he considered the proposal, something clearly hindering his agreement.

As if he could read the man’s thoughts, Smee stated, “Most of the crew is enjoying their leave in town. There’s naught but me and two others aboard, Captain. She’ll be safe enough.”

Emma was about to ask why Killian wouldn’t simply accompany them, when she remembered the reason for his deal with Smee in the first place. The conflicting effects of his and the ship’s magic, and how his had crippling ramifications upon her enchanted nature.

“Very well,” Killian acquiesced, procuring a small vial from inside one of his pockets. “And lest I forget,” he said, holding the tiny bottle out towards Smee, “my end of our bargain. Satisfied for one more year.”

Smee took the proffered potion, and tucked it into his pocket before giving Killian a reverential bow of his head. “Shall we, lass?” he inquired, offering her his arm.

“You’re sure you can’t come with us?” Emma asked of Killian, her heart breaking at the longing she saw in his forget-me-not eyes as he gazed up at his ship. “It’s only for an hour or two. Surely she could endure--”

“It’s not her that has to endure it, Swan. Besides,” he continued, his initial gruff tone falling away in favor of something more playful, “with Mr. Smee keeping you occupied, it gives me the perfect opportunity to go in search of something special for you.”

“You don’t have to get me anything, Killian,” she protested, noting the small shudder that ran over him when she called him by name.

“I don't do things because I _have to_ , love,” he said in a hushed, seductive tone. “I do them because I _want to_.” Lifting her hand, he pressed a searing kiss to the pulse point behind her wrist, and it was her turn to shudder. “Enjoy your tour of the _Roger_ , Swan. I’ll be back later to collect you.” Stepping back, he cast commanding eyes onto Smee and ordered, “Take good care of her, _Captain_.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” he replied, holding his arm out once more towards Emma, which she took without any hesitation this time.

She spent the next couple of hours exploring the magnificent ship from stem to stern - terms Smee had taught her, along with several others - and marveling at the life led by those who answered the siren’s call of the sea. Like his predecessor, Smee held a great deal of pride towards the vessel that had given him his livelihood… for several lifetimes, but it was also clear that the man did not consider himself to be her true master. Evident in many ways, but none more telling than the fact he’d never claimed the captain’s quarters as his own.

“You’ve kept it just as it was,” she marvelled, looking around the stately room and the few possessions that remained, awaiting their owner’s return. “For all these years?”

“Aye,” Smee responded with a tone of melancholy. “I suppose I’ve never given up hope that one day he’ll find a way to break that wretched curse of his.”

“Do you think there is one?” Emma asked, trying to keep her own bubbling hope from spilling over into her voice. “A way to break the curse, I mean?”

“If there is a way, then Cap’n hasn’t found it,” Smee lamented. “If he had, he’d been rid of the infernal thing long ago.”

“You said before it was a dagger that allowed him to vanquish the previous Dark One,” Emma reminded him. “Do you think, perhaps, this dagger might hold the key to the curse?”

Smee ran a hand over his beard in contemplation, weighing his next words. “The dagger is… It’s the source of the Dark One’s power,” he told her with an edge of reluctance. “It’s the only weapon that can kill Hook, and it can control him as well.”

“What do you mean, control him?”

Nervously, Smee swiped his tongue over his lips and took a step forward, lowering his voice in fear of being overheard, even though the ship was practically deserted. “I say none of this out of any disloyalty to my captain, but only because sometimes Hook can’t control the Darkness. When he first became afflicted he was… not himself at times. I could see the creature staring back at me through his eyes, but it was not Hook who inhabited them. He’s gotten better at it over the years, keeping control, maintaining a divide between himself and the manifestation of his curse. Still, I think you ought to be prepared in case _it_ takes over while you’re with him.”

“Prepared how?” she asked in a hushed breath. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose at the confirmation of all she’d wondered about the man and his dual natures, remembering the moments she’d sworn to have witnessed an unnatural presence creep over his features or sneer at her from the deep recesses of his gaze.

“He carries with him a dagger. One with a scalloped edge, and engraved with his name upon its blade. Anyone who wields the dagger has the power to command him, and he is powerless to refuse their demands. It’s also the only thing that can kill him, but as I said before, it will only achieve to end Hook’s existence, not the Darkness itself. Killing the Dark One only transfers the curse to the one whose hand put an end to him. It’s his one weakness, and…” his words fell off, a pained look of concern and guilt pinching his features, “I thought it best you know.”

Emma reached out and placed her hand on Smee’s forearm, giving it a light squeeze. “Thank you, Mr. Smee,” she said with an understanding smile of gratitude. “And I’m sure the man you knew before the curse would be grateful, too.”

“I hope so,” Smee told her, covering her hand with his. “I’d like to think he would see it is an act of good form.”

A knock sounded at the door, preceding a crewman’s entrance, and Emma took a step back so Smee could give the man his full attention.

“Pardon the intrusion, Captain, but the Harbour Master sent word that there is an urgent matter he wishes to discuss with you.”

Smee sighed. “Apologies, lass, but duty calls.”

“Of course,” she replied, waving off his words. “Shall I… um…”

“Wait here,” he told her. “This shouldn’t take long, then we can resume things once I’ve returned.”

She nodded her acknowledgment and began inspecting the room once more as he made his exit, presumably with his subordinate behind him. A moment later, as the sound of retreating footsteps faded, she heard the door snick closed and the turn of a lock click into place.

“Not to worry, sweetheart,” a voice leered from behind her. “I’ll gladly keep you company whilst the Captain’s away.”

Emma spun around, startled, then straightened her back so as to not give away any of the trepidations the man’s presence had created within her.

“Very kind of you, sir, but I have no need for your company.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for no freebies,” the man said with a disgusting swipe of his tongue over his teeth as his eyes raked over her form with a lecherous stare. “I’ve got money to pay ye, and it spends as well as the Captain’s does.”

“I assure you, good sir,” she stated with a haughty tone of offense, “That you have gauged the situation quite wrong. I am _not_ a whore, so you can keep your money and kindly let me pass.”

Attempting to shove her way past the man, he grabbed onto her shoulders and tried to barr her from leaving. Emma lifted her foot then slammed the heel of her boot down onto the man’s foot, making him howl before his arm swung back and stars exploded behind her eye from the force of his strike. She landed on the floor with a hard thud, the room spinning and a wave of nausea threatening to overtake her.

“I’ll gladly keep my money, but you owe me for that bit o’defiance, girl,” the man spat, his hands hastily undoing his trousers as Emma scurried backward.

“Stop,” she croaked, fear constricting her throat. “You don’t know what you’re doing. He’ll kill you.”

“The Captain?” the man laughed coldly, shimmying his trousers down to his ankles. “Not bloody likely. Captain Smee ain’t got the stomach for killin’.”

“No,” a cold voice menaced from the swirl of ox blood that had begun to manifest behind the man, “but I assure you, mate. I do.”

Emma slammed her eyes shut when the metal gleam of his hook emerged from the plumes and embedded itself into the side of the man’s neck. Even with her hands clamped over her ears, she could hear death gurgles spilling out of the man before the floor shook as his body collapsed at her feet. The weightless feeling she’d experienced when Killian had transported them to the docks came over her once more, and with it, the sensation of his embrace as his arms enveloped her and held her close to his chest.

“Are you alright, Swan?” Killian asked as soon as their feet were back on solid ground. The sounds of the docks were muffled in her ears as she attempted to process the past several minutes. “Did he hurt you?”

His fingers took hold of her chin, tilting her face up towards his, and his demeanor darkened further when his eyes narrowed in on the throbbing spot above her cheek.

“Captain? Lass? Everything alright?”

Before Emma could address Mr. Smee, who was making his way back down the dock, Killian released her chin and flung his arm out towards the man. She watched in horror as his fingers curled, as though wrapping themselves around Smee’s neck as the man gasped and sputtered for air.

“Killian, stop!” Emma cried out, but her pleas went unheeded.

“No. _Mr_. Smee,” Killian growled between clenched teeth. “Everything is most assuredly _not_ alright.” Smee collapsed to his knees, and Killian began to stalk towards him, his invisible grip still choking the life out of him. “One of your men saw fit to acost Miss Swan while she was under _your_ protection.”

“It wasn’t his fault, Killian,” Emma said, grasping onto his arm in an attempt to break the connection. “Please. Let him go!”

“Is this how you run things on my ship?” he continued to seethe. “Is that the kind of men you recruit into her service? Men without honor or any sense of good form? You would sully that which I have entrusted to you?”

“Hook! Stop it!” Emma yelled, finally gaining the Dark One’s attention. For that was who had taken over, evident by the swirl of madness gleaming from his eyes and the glittering spectre that had taken hold of his visage. “Let him go, Hook,” she commanded.

He wrenched his hand back and his eyes cleared, their forget-me-not hue shining back at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Smee gasped and coughed as Emma rushed to his side, crouching down beside him to offer whatever comfort she could.

“I’m sorry… C-Captain,” he choked out.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Smee,” Emma admonished. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Aye, it was,” he continued to rasp, his eyes fixed on his former captain. “I know as well as Hook does that everything that happens aboard a ship is the captain’s responsibility. I failed ye, Miss. And I failed my Captain.” Smee got to his feet with a bit of assistance, and stood as tall as he could in the face of a still glowering Captain Hook. “I swear the man will pay for his crime against the lass,” Smee declared.

“I have already seen to the matter,” Killian informed him darkly before flicking his wrist towards the _Jolly Roger_. “And have taken care to clean up the mess I left behind. Needless to say, you find yourself with one less crewman to command.”

Killian strode towards them, intent on departing, when Smee stepped into their path after he took Emma by the arm.

“Please, Captain,” Smee begged. “What can I do to make things right between us?”

Emma glanced up at Killian, the muscle in his jaw ticked like mad, and she placed her hand on his chest. His eyes fell to hers and softened slightly at the pleading look she gave him.

With a deep exhale, he flicked his gaze to Smee and said, “Keep to the deal. That’s all I ask, _Captain_ Smee.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Smee replied in a breath of relief. “Thank you.”

Emma wasn’t even granted an opportunity to express her own gratitude or goodbyes to the man before Killian began marching them back up the dock. Occupied with making sure she did not stumble over the uneven boards or various bits of debris littering the walkway, she was unable to voice her protest until they cleared the wharf and found themselves on the quieter streets of the village.

“You could have at least let me say goodb--”

Killian pulled her into an alleyway and pressed her against a stony exterior wall, plastering himself to her and cutting off her admonishment.

“I wish I had the power to resurrect the dead, so I could kill the bastard over again for daring to lay a hand on what is mine,” he growled before capturing her lips with a searing kiss.

His tongue was demanding, his hips impatient with the way they rolled against hers until he reached beneath her skirt and lifted her leg, cradling the back of her knee in the crook of his arm so he could eliminate as much space between them as possible. The hot slide of his mouth abandoned her lips in favor of a path that led down the side of her neck, leaving her gasping for air, then gasping at the sensation of him sucking a brand into the skin just below her collarbone.

“I don’t want you to call me Hook ever again,” he murmured with an edge of desperation. “I only want to be Killian to you.”

“Like you were with Milah?” she panted.

He stilled at her comment, his head lifting until they were face to face once more. His eyes bounced between hers with an unreadable expression, though she got the sense her comment had caught him completely off guard. In all honesty, she had no idea what had possessed her to utter those words, that name, and half expected his darker persona to come rushing forward in response to her audacity.

Opening his mouth, he began to form a reply when his eyes suddenly became unfocused, his attention no longer set on her or their surroundings, but on something only he could see or sense.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, not quite having come back to himself.

“Killian? What is it?”

“It seems the day’s intrusions are not yet concluded,” he told her with a tone of exasperation. “I’m being summoned.”

“Summoned?” Emma questioned, holding tight to him as he flicked his wrist and called upon the magical mist once more. “By whom?”

“Your father.”

~/~

When Emma’s feet met solid ground she had a moment’s panic at Killian’s absence while the ox blood colored smoke still circled her form, refusing to dissipate as she desperately tried to peer through the occasional break in the swirling chaos.

She could make out the Dark Vault just off to her left, the gurgling mire of pitch rising up as it had when she’d been the one to summon the Dark One. The roar of magic whirling around her made it impossible to hear anything, but she was able to catch a glimpse of her father, standing tall and proud as he shouted at Killian, who’d become fully formed atop the dias. The two traded words back and forth, her father becoming increasingly agitated while Killian kept his cool and unaffected facade, an underlying current of boredom and sinister cheek permeating the atmosphere in piercing ripples that managed to penetrate the curtain of enchantment still encasing her.

Emma called out several times, demanding Killian release her while trying to let her father know she was there. Pushing against the magical barrier did absolutely no good, but it didn’t stop her from pounding her fists in aggravation. When the enchantment finally gave way, Emma stumbled forward and heard her father’s relieved and slightly stunned exhale of her name. Without hesitation, she launched herself into her father’s arms, wrapping him tightly within her own as his hand cradled the back of her head as it always did.

“Emma, sweetheart, are you alright?”

With a sob choking the back of her throat, Emma nodded then managed to verbalize her response. “I am, Papa. I’m just so sorry I left the way I did. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to face you and Mother--”

“None of that matters now,” her father cut her off. His body position shifted back towards Killian, but he kept her locked in his embrace. “What matters is that the Dark One has agreed to release you from your deal.”

“What?” Emma exclaimed, pulling away from her father and snapping her head towards Killian.

“That’s not what I said, mate,” Killian countered in a clipped tone. “I said breaking our deal would have disastrous consequences, and that the only way your daughter could return to you before our deal is complete is if she and I _both_ chose to terminate the agreement. Which would mean you--”

“Would die,” Emma finished, forlornly. “Papa, no.”

She turned back to face her father, intending to make him see reason, but the only thing he saw was the bruise marring her cheek.

“Papa, no. It isn’t what you think. Killian didn’t--”

Her words were of no use. Fury flashed in her father’s eyes as he lunged at Killian, who simply vanished in a swirl of smoke.

“Face me, you coward!” Her father bellowed at the deserted clearing as Emma rushed to him.

“Papa, listen to me! Killian didn’t do this,” she told him, gesturing to the bruise at her cheek. “He protected me. Saved me. He would never hurt me.”

“And what about that?” her father demanded, his eyes quickly flicking down towards the neckline of her dress, and the mark Killian had branded into her skin. “How can you defend that monster after what he’s clearly forced you to--”

“He hasn’t forced me to do anything,” she protested. A rush of heat bloomed at her cheeks, and her father’s scandalized expression left a prickle of shame upon her skin, but she wouldn’t have him returning home believing the worst. “ _I_ made this deal, and he has been nothing but patient. Kind even.”

“Kind?” her father scoffed. “Don’t be fooled by him, Emma,” he warned. “Everyone knows the Dark One lies, and the Dark One tricks. In my attempts to gain access to his castle in order to rescue you, I learned he was a pirate before becoming consumed with the Darkness. Scoundrels like that can’t be trusted.”

“Scoundrel?” Killian drawled, manifesting once more in wisps of crimson. “I prefer dashing rapscallion.”

A growl rumbled from her father’s chest and he propelled himself towards Killian. This time, the Dark One did not magic himself away. Instead, he sidestepped the infuriated man’s advances, ducking and swaying out of reach of every swing David sent his way. Emma hated to see her father toyed with this way. She wanted to slap the smug grin off Hook’s face, because, yes, that’s who seemed to be in control once again.

“Stop dancing around, and fight me!” David shouted, winded from his exertions, but no less determined.

“Fine,” Killian sneered, flicking his wrist. “If you truly want your daughter back-” a sword appeared at her father’s feet as Killian slowly drew his, “-all you have to do is take her.”

Emma watched in horror as her father bent down to pick up the sword, his eyes never leaving the Dark One. He fiddled with the hilt, adjusting his grip, while his feet shuffled beneath him.

“Never been in a duel, I take it,” Killian taunted. “It’s quite simple, really. The pointy end goes into the other guy.”

David let out an indignant roar and thrust his sword forward with all his might, impaling Killian upon the blade, which only made the Dark One guffaw a deep, sinister laugh. “You’ll have to do better than that, mate.”

Emma’s horror turned to panic when her father reached forward and plucked a dagger from Killian’s belt; a dagger with a scalloped edge and etched with the name _Killian Jones_ upon its blade. Killian’s demeanor immediately sobered, and his entire body stiffened when he caught sight of the dagger within David’s hand.

With no thought, other than what would happen if her father commanded Killian to break the deal, or worse, managed to kill him with the blade, Emma flung herself in front of Killian, shouting, “It’s too late, Papa! The damage has already been done.” Placing her hands over her abdomen, she gave her father the most sincere look she could muster, and repeated. “It’s too late.”

“No,” her father lamented, dropping the dagger, which disappeared in a cloud of smoke before it could hit the ground. “No, you can’t be. It’s… it’s only been a couple of days. It’s too soon for you to know that.”

“He confirmed it this morning. With magic,” Emma lied. “As I said, the damage has already been done. If I don’t stay and see the deal through to the end then everything I’ve endured up to this point, all I must endure in the coming months, will have been for naught.” Stepping forward, she cupped her father’s cheek in her hand, and pleaded, “Please, Papa. Go. I promise…” Her voice hitched at the utterly despondent look in her father’s eyes. “I promise to come home after… after it’s...”

Emma couldn’t bring herself to say anymore, couldn’t let another torturous lie roll off her tongue. Backing away, she hit the solid planes of Killian’s chest (her father’s sword no longer embedded in his torso), and felt his arm wrap possessively around her waist.

“Tell Mother I love her,” Emma choked out as the ox blood colored plumes began to envelope them. “And that I’m sorry.”

The glen vanished before her eyes, her father’s cry of _Wait!_ echoing in her ears as autumn foliage was traded for the stone walls of the castle entry. Emma collapsed to the floor of the foyer, finally giving leave to the emotions she’d been holding at bay to release themselves with wracking sobs and hot tears of anguish. Stoically, Killian stood off to one side, silently allowing her whatever time and space she needed to work through her turmoil.

“What did he mean?” she asked on a teary hiccup, attempting to compose herself. Killian’s brows pinched together and his head cocked in confusion. “When he said he attempted to gain access to the castle,” she clarified with a sniffle. “No one but Smee has come to the castle since I arrived.”

A hardened look darkened his features before he admitted, “I cast a spell to bar him, or any of the rest of your family, from being able to set foot upon the grounds.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew he would come for you. After you told me you’d left them a letter as way of explanation, I knew it was only a matter of time, and time is something I wanted… _needed_ , more of in order to…”

“Woo me?” she replied, sourly, and picked herself up off the floor. “Would you have agreed to let me go? If I had chosen to leave with him and let fate decide his future, would you have let me out of our bargain?”

“You are free to leave at any time, Swan,” he answered. “You are not my prisoner.”

“Aren’t I?”

His jaw tightened, the muscle above pulsating as his nostrils flared. “You may feel that way, but allow me to remind you _again_ that you sought _me_ out. _You_ agreed to this deal, and you can walk away from it at any time. I did not force you to make it, and I will not force you to make good on it.”

“But you’ll take back the healing you gave my father if I don’t stay, which only ensures he’ll die.”

“I’m not the one who made your father sick,” he reminded her with a hard edge slicing through his otherwise hushed tone.

“I know that,” she snapped, more angry at herself than him.

Though he certainly had his own agenda, and knew exactly what trap he was luring her into by offering the deal, she’d been the one foolish enough to agree. Foolish enough to think she could escape fate. Where it had originally come to take her father from her, she was now faced with it taking either her own existence, wasted as she pined for her family or the life she could have had, or that of the child she might one day bear, ripped from her arms and raised without the love of its mother.

“I know you aren’t to blame for my father getting sick,” she murmured. “And I know what I agreed to when I made this deal. I just…” Shaking her head, not even sure what she meant to say, Emma turned and started up the grand staircase, ready to put the day behind her.

“Why did you lie to your father?” Killian’s voice called out, halting her steps.

“What?”

“You lied,” he stated. “You told him you were already with child, when you and I both know that isn’t so.” He took a few tentative steps forward, until he stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at her. “Why the lie?”

“Because he had your dagger,” Emma told him, thinking the reason would have been obvious. “I feared what would happen if he commanded you to break our deal, or if he--”

Killian raised an angry hand, staying her words as fury glittered across his features. “Smee,” he sneered. “It seems my traitorous first mate told you quite a bit about this dagger of mine.”

Pulling the blade from its sheath, he twirled it by the hilt while murderous thoughts played themselves out over his darkened features. Features Emma did not recognize as Killian’s.

“He didn’t tell me about the dagger out of any disloyalty to you, Killian,” she explained on Smee’s behalf. “He did it to protect me in case… in case I ever found myself in a position where you were unable to control the Darkness. He wanted me to know about _its_ one weakness, not yours.”

When he didn’t respond, his focus still on the spinning blade, Emma set off towards her room once more.

“What was the other reason?” he inquired when she was halfway up the stairs.

“What?” she asked wearily.

“When I asked why you lied to your father, you were about to add another reason before I… _it_ stopped you. What was it?”

Emma blinked in astonishment. She’d been right, it wasn’t just Killian present with her in the foyer, although he seemed to be the one at the reins now. Her astonished reaction was also due to the truth revealed to her in the glen that she was only now able to fully process.

“I was afraid he might kill you,” she replied softly, coming to grips with the revelation of her feelings.

“And become the Dark One himself.”

His echoing murmur jarred her from her thoughts and she cast her gaze upon him, hoping he would not see the full truth within her eyes.

“Well, yes… but…”

“But?”

“I _was_ afraid he would become the Dark One,” she said before confessing, “But I was also terrified that... you might die.”

Emma braced herself for more questions, for him to push her to admitting a deeper meaning behind her words, to use them to his advantage in sealing the deal she’d made. Instead, he padded his way up the steps and tucked his fingers beneath her chin, prompting her to look at him as he offered her a reassuring smile and soothing lift of his brows.

“Love, you don’t have to worry about me,” he told her with a sincere lilt in his normally dulcet tone. “If there’s one thing I’m good at… it’s surviving.”

His eyes fell to her mouth before flicking back up to hers, the question surging from their blue depths like an ocean spray. Lifting herself up onto her toes, Emma answered with the press of her lips, still unsure what the remainder of her reply would be if he asked for more, seeing as her emotional state was holding on by a mere thread at this point.

Perhaps sensing her hesitation, or simply reading her like the open book she was to him, Killian pulled back just far enough to rest his foreheads against hers, and bid, “Get some rest, Swan. You’ve had a trying day.”

One last kiss was placed along her hairline before the all too familiar crimson plumes engulfed her, transporting her to her bedroom. Alone.

Like each night before, Emma was left to wrestle with the new sensations and emotions Killian had sparked to life within her, but unlike before, these feelings had nothing to do with the temptations of the flesh.

No.

Tonight, Emma would have to endure the longings of her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos. I'm sorry I haven't been replying to them, but real life has been... real. Regardless, they mean so much and I'm thrilled y'all are enjoying this fic. xoxo


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

Snow crunched beneath Emma’s boots, the chill of the air puffing in wisps of vapor from her lips as she strolled through the castle gardens with the unseasonably cold weather swirling around her. It wasn’t unheard of for the realm to experience snow this early in the season, but Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that the fall of snow blanketing the castle and its grounds had less to do with an anomaly in the almanac and more to do with the enchanted nature of the place.

She would have asked Killian about the strange shift in the weather, but he had made himself scarce these past few days. Ever since their day at the docks and the confrontation with her father, she’d only caught brief glimpses of him. A swish of his coat around a corner, the sight of his hook as it firmly pressed a door closed, or like now, a set of footprints in the freshly fallen snow. There had been the occasional note, as was his custom, but Emma had not had any direct contact with him in three days and the estrangement was beginning to take its toll on her.

Was he still angry with Smee? Furious with himself for leaving her in a position that allowed another an opportunity for malfeasance? Uncertain whether he could continue to trust Smee with the care of his beloved ship?

Was he devising a way to keep her father from summoning him again? Extending the spell he’d cast over the castle grounds, baring her family, to also encompass his vault?

Had he changed his mind about their deal? About her? For a man who had seemed so eager to woo her into his bed, why had he suddenly broken off contact?

Emma had been driving herself mad with these musings. These and others that had plagued her during moments of both wake and sleep, spanning from the carnal to the transcendent as she reminisced over each and every moment she’d spent with Killian since summoning him in that glen. Reflecting on how many times she’d gone in search of him with a variety of reasons prompting each exploration; a need for answers, a want for his company, a desire to cast aside all other needs and wants in favor of something she had begun to crave over the long hours of the night when a different sort of darkness caressed her skin.

Brushing off the layer of wintery accumulation, Emma dropped down onto the stone bench she’d found that first full day at the castle and stared across the frozen surface of the reflecting pool. Pulling her heavy, fur trimmed cloak more securely around her, Emma closed her eyes and allowed those memories and the fantasies she’d concocted from her own lustful imaginings to wash over her. They were simpler and more pleasurable to surrender herself to than other ponderings; ones that manifested, not from that primal place at the core of her being, but from the space that held her heart in its gentle grasp until such a time when she would relinquish its care to another.

Those thoughts were given as little consideration as possible, lest she find her heart as ravaged as her maidenhead would be once her deal with the Dark One was satisfied.

“Have you ever been to a ball, love?”

Emma’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Killian’s voice, and she found him casually leaning against the trunk of one of the tall pines, heavily carpeted in a shimmering white that contrasted with his all black attire.

“Uh… let me think,” she replied with a dose of sass, causing his brow and the corner of his lips to rise in amused tandem. “Poor country girl, raised all her life on her family’s farm… that would be a no.”

“Well, then tonight is your lucky night,” he declared with a flourish, pushing himself away from the tree and swaggering towards her. “It so happens my presence is required at a royal affair this evening, and I thought you might wish to accompany me.”

Emma shook her head, angrily, as a snorting scoff escaped her. Killian’s eyes narrowed and his brows pinched together before he maddeningly stated, “You seem vexed?”

“Why would I be vexed?” she countered, not even attempting to keep her growing ire from clipping along each syllable she spoke. “You ignore me for three days, then appear out of thin air asking me to a ball? No consideration of how your absence might have affected me, or an explanation of what you’ve been up to?”

His expression sobered, his demeanor bordering on contrite as he confessed, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t hurt yourself,” she sniped, standing with the intent of striding past him without so much as a by your leave.

Before she could get too far, his hand wrapped around her arm and he pulled her into his chest. His arms wrapped around her, pinning her own arms to her side as he smiled down at her with a teasing smirk. “Quite feisty today, aren’t we? I rather like it,” he purred, while the tip of his nose outlined the shell of her ear, sending an involuntary shudder over the length of her body.

She wouldn’t allow him to spin his usual spell of seduction over her, though. Placing her hands firmly against his chest, she wrestled out of his embrace and stepped away. “Be serious, Killian,” she admonished, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think I deserve an explanation, and I am not accompanying you anywhere until I get it.”

A flicker of menace passed over his features, but he cast it away with a sharp snap of his head before returning his attention to her. As quickly as it had materialized, the sinister swirl within his eyes and sneering scowl pulling at his upper lip vanished, leaving no trace of the Darkness in Killian’s expression or countenance as he gave her a deferential and penitent bow of his head.

“Aye, Swan,” he murmured softly, “you do.”

Gesturing to the bench she had been seated upon a moment ago, he invited her to join him, whisking away the snow that had collected there with a wave of his hand. Emma was stunned to find the action had also taken away the biting chill of the stone when she resumed her seat, finding its surface to be a pleasant temperature against her posterior as the warmth of Killian’s own natural body heat kept her feeling cozy at his side.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you told me,” he began with a strained tone which seemed to want to inhibit his words. He was most likely unaccustomed to explaining himself to anyone; out of practice without the consistent company of others for so many years and having not been obligated to do so while commanding a ship full of men as their indubitable captain. To say nothing of the Darkness’ penchant towards secrecy.

“About what Smee said to you,” he continued on. “He was right. Sometimes the Darkness does get the better of me, and I hadn’t realized how present it had become until that day at the docks.”

“Because it drove you to kill that man?”

Killian’s jaw tightened and a flicker of fury that had nothing to do with his cursed nature flashed behind his eyes. “No,” he stated in an ominously, hushed tone. “That was all my doing. The Darkness did not prompt me to bury my hook in his neck. My need to protect you did.” That revelation released some of the tension that had been underpinning his words, but it was replaced with a tinge of self-deprecation. “Do not forget, darling. I will always be a pirate, and we do not take kindly to others trifling with what is ours.” Another self-castigating expression pinched at his features, and a heavy sigh fell from his lips. “Which is another matter I spent a great deal of time thinking over.”

Emma held her tongue, and the query poised upon it, granting him a moment to solidify his resolve. Flecks of snow fluttered around them, landing upon the riotous strands of his hair where they glistened for a moment before succumbing to his heat. Emma shivered against their icy caress as they collected at the edge of her hood and scooted closer to him, placing a hand on his knee as an added bit of encouragement.

“I do not want you to feel like my prisoner,” he told her, his eyes looking back towards the castle. “I allowed myself to believe that because you have the power to leave the castle whenever you want, that meant I was not your warden, but… I cannot deny the proprietary feelings I have towards you, nor will I disregard your own testimony.” His eyes met hers, clear with a sincerity that matched the look she’d seen in them the night of their shared bath when he’d professed to having been a man of honor once. “You’re right, Swan. You _are_ trapped here for the duration of our deal, because I know you would rather give up your own life than see your father lose his.” He paused, weighing his words before speaking again. “And while I have been focusing my intentions towards the activities that might bring about the conception of our deal’s end, I realized when you told that falsehood to your father that my end game of wooing you into my bed does not mean the final goal will have been reached.”

He placed his hand over the top of hers and squeezed it gently. “When you finally do decide to honor our deal, it may take many months before you are with child, and then another nine before the babe is born. That is a long time to spend in melancholy, and as much as it is up to me, I do not wish to add any more misery to your circumstances.”

Emma sat stunned at his acknowledgement and admission, and her heart swelled at the evidence his words seemed to present. Evidence that he might be starting to care about her in ways beyond that of what their deal would grant him.

“So,” she replied, gingerly, not wishing to disturb the fragile intimacy of the moment. “You wish to take me to a royal ball because you think it would… make me happy?”

A slightly guilty expression crossed over his face as he admitted, “Well, as I said, _my_ presence is required, but… yes.” His hand moved up to her cheek and he brushed the back of his knuckles along her cheek. “Before the outing became unpleasant, I rather enjoyed seeing you so full of life and excitement on the docks.” His thumb grazed across her lips before settling in the dimple at her chin with his fingers tucked beneath. “I want to see that smile light up your face once more. I want to know it was something I did that put it there.” His head tilted forward, bringing his lips closer to hers as his eyes sparkled with a soft glimmer of seduction. “So, what do you say, Swan? Fancy playing princess for an evening?”

Emma’s eyes fell to the plumpness of his lips, moist and pink from where his tongue had just run over them before pressing itself to the back of his teeth in anticipation of her response.

“I have nothing to wear,” she said, stupidly, drawing a light chuckle from him.

“I believe I can remedy that,” he assured her before closing the space between them and claiming her mouth.

~/~

The bright melody of a string quartet made its way down the long corridor that led to the bustling ballroom within the foreign castle. After presenting an invitation to the Steward, they had been granted entry and were now being escorted by the welcoming glow of torchlight that led to the vividly illuminated doorway where the tinkling sounds of laughter and merriment harmonized with the lively notes of whatever piece of music the strings were bringing to life.

Emma never would have imagined the excitement currently vibrating through her. She’d always scoffed and rolled her eyes at the way other young women from her village had fawned over the idea of a ball, never really understanding what the big deal was; a sentiment she’d shared with Killian before they’d departed his own castle that evening.

_“I don’t see what the big deal is,” she said from behind the privacy screen where a young woman, hired from the village, was assisting Emma with her gown. Killian had entered her room just moments earlier, inquiring if she were ready and regaling her with all the details of the evening she had to look forward to. Details that had the young woman, Ashley, sighing and swooning covetously as she secured Emma within her corset._

_“You’ll understand once we arrive,” he assured her. “Are you sure you don’t need an extra hand back there, love?”_

_Emma let out a very unlady like snort at the salacious tone that accompanied his offer. “If we let you help, I’m more likely to end up_ out _of this gown rather than corseted in it.”_

_A scandalized sound gasped from Ashley’s lungs and her cheeks flamed with shocked innocence. Her reaction prompted Emma’s own cheeks to heat up, her lack of propriety most likely coloring her face to match that of the exquisite gown Killian had procured for her._

_Muttering an apology to the poor girl, Emma took in as deep of a breath as she could before making her way around the edge of the screen. Killian’s awed expression took that breath right out of her lungs, as did his appearance. Per usual, he was adorned in butter soft, tight leather pants and a gossamer like blouse of smoke, but this time his waistcoat was fashioned out of red leather as well, and his great coat was made of quilted black leather with deep red piping. His hair was only slightly less riotous than usual, and the fresh kohl he’d applied to his eyes made their forget-me-not hue sparkle as they raked over her._

_“You look stunning, Swan,” he praised on a hushed breath when his gaze finally met hers._

_“You look…”_

_“I know,” he quipped cheekily with a wink when words failed her._

_Emma rolled her eyes at his vanity and turned to thank Ashley once again for all her assistance. While Killian deposited a small bag of coin in the young woman’s palm before instructing her to follow the wall sconces back to the foyer and exit beyond, Emma took an opportunity to view herself in the standing mirror._

_She had to give Ashley credit, she’d done a fantastic job artfully working her tresses into a stylish updo while keeping her face looking natural under the applications she’d applied. Reverently, Emma ran her hands over the red satin gown hugging each curve of her body like a second skin. Never in her life had she been dressed in such finery, and it was easy to feel like a princess while draped in such a rich fabric, embellished with intricate beading that framed her cleavage in a way Killian couldn’t seem to pry his eyes from._

_“You are almost perfect, love,” he murmured softly behind her shoulder._

_Emma quirked a brow at him in the mirror. “Almost?”_

_A rakish grin overtook his lips and he raised his hook. “I think you’ll find that this,” a swirl of red wisped around his hook, leaving a breathtaking necklace swinging from its crook, “is the finishing touch you currently lack.”_

_Emma stood, mouth gaping, as he draped the obscenely large ruby, encased in a filigree of silver, over her chest and clasped it behind her neck._

_“Killian,” she exhaled. “I… I can’t accept this. It’s… it’s too much.”_

_“Nonsense,” he soothed. “I thought of you the moment I saw it. It belongs on a neck such as yours. Besides, such grandeur will be expected if we are to play our parts tonight.”_

_Emma pushed past the urge to preen at his words and instead focused on the last of his statement. “What part are we playing?”_

_“All in due time,” he deflected, turning her around so he could pull her into his chest. “Shall we?”_

Emma didn’t know where to focus her attention first. The sights and sounds of the ballroom were an exquisite barrage to her senses, from the elegant couples dancing and mingling throughout, to the way the orchestral delights filled the empty spaces, reaching all the way up to the ceiling which glistened with grand chandeliers. Silver trays arranged with sparkling crystal flutes of bubbling champagne criss-crossed before her as other trays laden with lavish canapes passed by. Rooted to a spot at the fringe of such extravagance, Emma was only slightly aware that her mouth hung open while she took in the grandeur before her.

“You were saying?” Killian chuckled in her ear, teasing her about the scoffing comments she’d made earlier.

Panic began to set in as Killian prompted them to make their way further into the throng.

“What am I supposed to do?” she hissed at him under her breath.

“Blend in,” he said, and her heart rate jumped at the realization he was leading them towards the dance floor.

“Wait,” she protested, attempting to dig in her heels. “I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t even know what dance this is.”

Killian’s hand skimmed across her back as he took his place in front of her. “It’s called a waltz,” he informed her while placing her hand at his shoulder. “And like any other enjoyable activity of a _physical_ nature two people might engage in together,” he purred seductively, wrapping her other hand around the wooden one he’d replaced his hook with for the evening. “There’s only one rule.” Securing her in his arms, his eyes flicked back to hers and a soft smile graced his lips. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma no longer feared making a fool of herself amongst the spinning couples she soon found herself surrounded by. There was a far greater danger she might drown in the look Killian gave her as he guided her around the room with her feet scarcely even touching the floor.

She had no idea how many hours they’d spent circling the dance floor in each other’s arm, or how many glasses of champagne and moments of laughter they’d shared together before his disposition changed. She did, however, know the exact moment his mood soured.

“My Lords and Ladies!” the Royal Steward announced, gathering everyone’s attention to the raised dias. “It is with great pride that Her Majesty Queen Zoe and Her Prince Consort presents to you this day, their son and heir, His Royal Highness Prince Anchurus!”

A cheer went up from the crowd, as well as cries wishing a long life and prosperity for the babe swaddled in his mother’s arms. Toasts were offered with more trays of wine and champagne flooding the ballroom, and Emma accepted another glass after Killian plucked a fresh libation for each of them. She feared the delicate glass would fracture from the way Killian gripped it, draining its contents and slamming it down on a passing try before skulking off through the crowd.

Emma finally found him on one of the many balconies, thoroughly agitated. For a moment, she considered leaving him to his contemplations, but fearing who might be in control at the moment, she chose instead to confront him as to the reason they were there in the first place.

“You said your presence was required here tonight,” she reminded softly, joining him at the railing and propping her forearms next to his along its edge. “Why are we here, Killian? What business do you have and what does it have to do with the royal family?”

The muscle above his jaw flickered as he peered out into the black of the night, seeming to have not even noticed her presence as he continued to brood.

“Other than yours and Smee’s, I have never made a deal with anyone,” he finally spoke. “But that does not mean I haven’t had to collect on the ones my predecessors made. Ones that had not been fulfilled before their demise.”

“They don’t die with the Dark One?”

Killian shook his head. “The deals are tied to the Darkness. That’s whose magic is used to bind them, so each Dark One is compelled to uphold them whether they were the original dealer or not.”

“So…” Emma speculated. “We’re here because someone made a deal with the previous Dark One?”

“Aye,” he replied in an agitated and pained tone. “And it falls to me to see it through to the end.”

Though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, Emma knew she had to ask, “What was the deal?” Her lungs began to protest against the breath she was holding before Killian finally answered.

“Long ago, this kingdom’s sovereign was cursed with a malady. Everything he touched turned to gold.”

“That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

“Everything, Swan,” he clipped out sharply, causing her to flinch. “Whether by purposeful action or accident, any graze of his flesh, whether it be off his hand, or knee, or mouth, would turn whatever he’d touch to gold. He could not hold his daughter, or make love to his wife. Unless gloved, he could not even pet the royal hounds. No direct contact with anyone or anything. Ever.”

Emma swallowed the lump of compassion she felt for the poor king and his family, and hoped her expression and acknowledging gesture of her head conveyed to Killian that his point was well taken.

“The king believed he could shoulder the burden, and life went on,” Killian continued. “His only child married and gave birth to a son. When the child was no longer tethered to its mother, a horrible truth was revealed as the midwife - the first to touch the child after its cord was cut - turned to gold. The curse, you see, is generational. Passing only to the males within the line.”

“How terrible!” Emma gasped. “How could a mere infant survive such a thing?”

“The babe could be handled, so long as its carers took proper precautions, but he could not nurse from his mother’s breast, and all methods to nourish the child were failing. Desperate, they sought out Rumpelstiltskin, begging for his help.”

“They hoped he could cure the child? That he might have known of a way to break the curse?”

“Aye,” Killian replied in a strained tone.

Emma noted the warring demeanor that seemed to be ravaging the current Dark One at present, and for the first time she wondered… How did Killian know all of this? Were these his recollections being shared, or was the tale being conveyed to her by the Darkness itself?

“Rumple told them that while he could not break the curse, he could transfer it to another for a time. He agreed to take the curse upon himself for seven generations, so long as he could keep the spoils.”

“Wait,” Emma said, casting aside her suspicions for the moment. “If the deals carry over, then why doesn’t _your_ touch turn things to gold?”

“Because of the nature of what _we_ are,” he answered with a foreign gleam glittering within his eyes, sending a shiver running up Emma’s spine. “Rumple was able to manipulate the curse so it only manifested when he was at his spinning wheel.”

“Spinning straw into gold,” Emma supplied, remembering that detail from tales she had been told from a young age.

“The deal was to last for seven generations, with the first male born after that taking the curse back onto themselves.”

Emma’s head snapped back to his, her eyes wide with shock and her heart clenching with dread. “That’s why you’re here? To curse that infant?”

“Do you think I _want_ to be here?” Killian snarled, and despite his malevolent tone Emma was relieved to find him clawing his way back to the forefront once more. “Do you think I _want_ to smite an innocent child with a terrible affliction? I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do,” she argued, taking hold of his hand. “Just… don’t give it back. Keep spinning straw into gold, or put the curse on a goose so it lays golden eggs! I don’t care what you do with it, but you can’t put it back on that child.”

“You don’t get it, Swan,” he clipped out, forcefully snatching his hand away as rage continued to contort his features. “There is a reason no one breaks a deal with the Dark One, it’s because the consequences are _always_ more severe and terrible than the original plight.”

His eyes fell shut and a shudder rolled over him as he fought back against the siege upon his soul. When his eyes opened they were clear and inhabited by him alone, proof that he had been successful in driving the Darkness back to the dredges.

“Trust me,” he murmured. “I witnessed enough carnage refusing to honor deals I found distasteful after I was first cursed with the Darkness. The same consequences apply even if it is the Dark One who chooses to break the deal, and if I break this one… countless amounts of people could suffer. I have to honor the deal.”

With fresh resolve besetting his brow, Killian began to stalk back towards the ballroom. Before he made it off the balcony, Emma caught his arm and turned him back towards her.

“Then make a new deal.”

“What?”

“Make a new deal,” she demanded. “Or renew this one. You can do that, can’t you?” His brows became pinched and his lips parted as he took in her words. “Make a new deal that will spare this family for another seven generations, and if you’re still the Dark One when the time is up, then make another one.” When he still made no effort to agree, Emma, becoming desperate, and with little thought of the consequences, offered, “Make a new deal, and I promise to honor ours this very ni--”

“Don’t,” he growled, his hand shooting up to cover her mouth. “Do not make such an offer.” His eyes became pained, an expression of longing and desire swirling within their blue depths as he whispered, “You are already indebted to me, Swan. Do not make it worse for yourself. For either of us.”

His fingertips lightly caressed her lips as he removed his hand and Emma could feel the yearning grow tangible between them. The urge to entice him to stay upon the balcony so she could distract him from one deal by making good on another nearly overwhelmed her, compelling her to flick out her tongue so it grazed the calloused pad of his thumb. His eyes darkened and he pressed his thumb against her lips, forcing it past her teeth until it slipped into the heat of her mouth. Another shudder rippled over him when she wrapped her lips around the digit, pulling it further into her mouth until a groan reverberated from deep within his chest.

Her own chest heaved as he slowly withdrew his thumb, his fingers brushing the side of her face before slowly gliding down her throat, tracing the lines of the necklace he’d gifted her. His hand came to rest over her breast, palming it with a firm grasp before his mouth took hold of hers and Emma wrapped her arms around his neck in victory. Surely he would simply whisk them back to his castle now, where he could concentrate his efforts on their deal rather than the one his predecessor had left him with.

Not willing to take any chances with the fate of an infant hanging in the balance, Emma slid her hand down Killian’s chest to the front of his tented leather trousers and cupped the bulge she found there. The sound he made shot straight to her core, but so too did his hand over the top of her wrist, stilling her actions as he broke off the kiss. The set of his jaw, pulsing beneath the sharp edge of his beard, told Emma he’d become wise to her scheme. Fearing what she might find, she had to muster the courage to look up into his eyes. They were burning with a mixture of emotions, his midnight gaze aflame with both desire and anger, swirling with a duality of disappointment and awed astonishment. Of all the things his eyes imparted, it was the wounded expression of deep vulnerability that tore at her the most.

“Not like this,” he exhaled mournfully. “I do not want…” His Adam’s apple bobbed and his jaw clenched once more before he stepped away and again uttered, “Not like this,” before turning and making his way back into the ballroom with purpose filled strides.

“Your Majesties! My Lords and Ladies!” Emma heard him call out as soon as he’d cleared the throng. “Allow me to introduce myself. Killian Jones, at your service.” Pushing her way through the gathered crowd, Emma made it to the edge of the empty - save for him - dance floor in time to see him give a mocking bow. Gone was the vulnerability he’d shown her on the balcony. Instead the brash and insolent pirate was taking center stage, ready to give tonight’s attendees a show they would not soon forget. “Or perhaps you lot might know me by my more colorful moniker… the Dark One.”

Gasps echoed throughout the ballroom and a wide grin stretched over Killian’s face at the response.

“What are you doing here, beast?” The Prince Consort demanded, stepping forward to shield the Queen and his son.

A hard tsk broke across Killian’s tongue. “Is that anyway to treat one’s guests? Especially one who has come to bestow a gift upon your progeny?”

“What sort of gift?” the Queen questioned from the dias. While her tone and posture continued to convey a regal confidence, Emma could see the worry beginning to manifest in the way she fidgeted with her child, holding him closer to her and wrapping his blanket more firmly around him.

“Well, not a gift so much really. More of a birthright,” Killian carried on as though giving an exhibition of spectacle to satiate the ennui of the masses. “One that has been withheld from you for… how long has been now? Ah, yes.” He paused and fixed his eyes upon the Royals with a pointed look that matched the inflection of his tone. “Seven generations.”

More gasps filled the ballroom as the attendees began to understand the implication of the Dark One’s words.

“That’s impossible,” the Prince declared, his face draining of all color. “That deal was made with Rumplestilskin, not you. You have no right.”

“And yet” Killian snapped his wrist in a downward motion and a scroll appeared in his hand, unfurling across the floor until the end of it hit the bottom step of the platform. “This contract says otherwise,” he contended.

The Queen and Prince Consort eye’s trailed over the document and each blanched when they came to signatures at the bottom of the scroll. Signatures, though Emma could not see them from her vantage point, most assuredly included Killian’s, his name having replaced Rumplestiltskin’s on the Darkness’ behalf.

Flicking his wrist sharply back, the contract receded until tightly wound once more. Pocketing the document, Killian began making his way to the platform. “So, let’s have him. Bring me the little knipper, so I might bestow this _blessing_ upon him.”

“No!” his mother cried out when Killian stepped up on the dais. “No, please! There must be something… something we can do. Please!”

Killian stopped, and Emma held her breath, imploring him silently from across the room to do as she had suggested. Hoping against hope that he would offer to make them a deal, even as guilt over encouraging him to do the thing he clearly despised doing sat heavily upon her chest, threatening to crush the erratic beat of her heart.

Dramatically, Killian flicked up his hand, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Actually. Now that you mention it. I _might_ be inclined to renew our deal if…”

“If what? Please, we’ll do anything!”

Killian rolled his eyes in disgust and let go a heavy sigh. “I despise when you lot say that,” he grumbled under his breath.

Emma was reminded of this same reaction when she had been the one to plead with him in the glen, further intensifying her feelings of guilt. Feelings that were quickly bridled by relief, and the convictions of her belief that all would be worth it so long as the child was spared.

“I’ll keep the curse for another seven generations, if I can change the terms of its use,” Killian stated, drawing confused looks from the Queen and Prince Consort. “You see, I have never been keen on spinning, so the skill of turning straw into gold does not really appeal to me. However, I was reminded this evening of a story from my childhood.” Killian cast a quick glance over his shoulder and caught Emma’s eye. A cheeky smirk lifted the corner of his lips as a wink in her direction caused all eyes to land upon her before returning their attentions back to the spectacle, with a fresh rumble of murmurs rolling through the crowd.

“Perhaps you’ve heard it,” Killian continued, pacing the length of the platform and putting on a show worthy of the pomp and circumstance of the evening. “It’s about a boy, a beanstalk, and a giant who has in his possession a goose… A goose that can lay _golden_ eggs. As a lad, I always thought Jack was one lucky git for acquiring such a marvel, so I think…” pausing yet again in both speech and pacing, Killian swiveled on his feet and faced the royal couple. “Yes. Your family shall be free of the curse for a further seven generations, so long as I can change the contract to stipulate my preference for how the curse is utilized during that time, _and_ keep all the gold it supplies.” Snapping his fingers, a new scroll appeared in his hand, and once taken by the Royal Steward, a feather quill materialized as well. Twirling the plumage between his fingers, Killian presented it to the Queen and asked, “Do we have a deal?”

Handing her son over to his father, the Queen plucked the quill from Killian’s hand then penned her name to the bottom of the scroll once the Steward completed his perusal of the document.

“There,” the Queen clipped, haughtily, “You have your deal, demon. Now begone.”

“With pleasure,” Killian replied, snidely, tucking the scroll away and turning on his heel without a backwards glance to the royal couple. His course was purposeful as his strides led him across the dance floor, and the swell around Emma receded as he approached.

“Shall we depart, my darling?” he said, taking her hand and not waiting for her acquiescence before pulling her towards the exit. Emma wondered why he did not simply magic them away, and once they were clear of any eavesdropping ears, she voiced that very question.

“The castle is warded against magical arrivals and departures,” he informed her in a detached sort of way.

She probably ought to allow him the comfort of her silence, but couldn't help the next inquiry that slipped off her tongue. “Why did you make them sign a contract? I didn’t sign one. Did Smee?”

“Contracts were Rumplestiltskin’s preference,” he muttered darkly. “A verbal agreement with the Dark One is as binding as a written one, but Rumple enjoyed the flare as well as the tangible evidence of power so many scrolls stacked upon one another gave his dealings. Seeing as I had the original contract that was drawn up between him and Midas, it seemed fitting to keep to that legacy.”

“Killian…” Emma began hesitantly when the front steps of the castle became visible. “About earlier. On the balcony. I--”

“There’s no need to explain, Swan,” he cut her off sharply. Clear of the stone and mortar, they must have reached the edge of the magical barrier, for no sooner had the night breeze hit her skin than Killian was pulling her into his chest, calling upon the crimson smoke that would transport them home. As it swirled around them, whooshing its gale force sounds against her ears, Emma heard Killian’s hard yet wounded tone as he said, “Nor is there need to discuss the matter of this evening, _any part_ of this evening, further.”

When the crimson plumes cleared, Emma found herself in her bedroom. Alone.

~/~

The gnawing at her insides made sleep impossible, and after God knows how many hours, Emma couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t leave things the way they were between them. She needed to explain her motives, apologize for putting him in the position of making another deal, even as she felt compelled to thank him for doing so, and finally have it out with him as why - when he clearly hated doing so - he had ever made one with her in the first place.

Throwing back the covers, she left what should have been the warm comfort of her bed and grabbed the dressing gown she’d left lying over the back of a chair. Tying the belt of the robe firmly around her waist, she wrenched open her chamber door and found herself at a sudden loss.

She had no idea where Killian’s chambers were, she realized.

Though she had explored the castle numerous times, none of the bedrooms or suites she’d come across had ever given her a clear indication as to his inhabitancy. Not to be deterred, Emma squared her shoulders and marched down the length of the hallway until she reached the intersection of three others. Knowing she could spend the rest of the night aimlessly searching for the man, Emma contemplated her next course thoughtfully.

“Where are you, Killian?” she murmured under her breath, and a soft glow to her left began to illuminate one of the hallways.

The wall sconces flickered to life, guiding her steps, until she came to a set of tall, heavy mahogany doors she could not remember ever coming across before. Firelight flickered from beneath the massive doors and Emma held her breath as she tested the ornate knob, releasing the pressure in her lungs when the latch gave way, allowing her entrance.

Killian stood beside an imposing fireplace, a dark amber liquid swirling within the glass tightly gripped within his hand as his gaze was lost in the dance of the flames, the glimmer of the blaze illuminating his profile with an otherworldly glow.

“Killian?” she addressed softly, padding her way towards the fireplace.

“You should be in bed, love,” he stated hollowly before taking a large swallow of his drink, making his Adam’s apple leap within his throat. “What has you traipsing about the castle at all hours of the night?”

“I…” she began on a hoarse breath. The rage infused atmosphere, tinted with a palette of self-loathing made her mouth feel parched and caused a quivering of anxiety to erupt within her chest. “I wanted to thank you, Killian,” she continued. “For doing what you did for that family. For that child.”

“It was the right thing to do,” he replied, his attention still fixed on the consuming heat of the fire as it ravaged its way through the dry, brittle logs. “Even if it does only postpone the inevitable. Makes the curse someone else’s problem to contend with later on down the line. Someone who hasn’t even been born yet. Who will have no idea the horror that awaits them because of someone else’s actions.”

“I’m sorry I forced you to make another deal,” she said in a hushed and shame-filled tone. “And I’m sorry I tried to use our deal to sway--”

“What must I do?” he demanded in a tone of imploring, his gaze now set upon her and filled with a desperate pleading that his countenance seemed to want to snuff out.

“What do you mean?”

“What must I do in order for you to truly want me,” he clarified. “To _want_ to honor our deal and let me… let me have you.”

He set his drink upon the mantle as she approached, turning to face her fully and Emma noted the state of his undress. Gone was his great coat and his boots. His red leather waistcoat hung open, the fastenings long since undone along with many of the blouse buttons beneath it.

“Do you remember what you told me the day I arrived?” she asked, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek and smiling softly at the way he nuzzled his face into her palm. “That when you won my consent it wouldn’t be for any reason other than me wanting you? Well… that’s what I want, too,” she confessed on a hushed exhale. “I don’t want you to take me to your bed _just_ because I’m willing, or _just_ to satisfy our deal. I want it to be because _you_ want _me_.”

His eyes flashed with something bordering on incredulity tinted with hope. “I do want you, Swan,” he breathed. “I want _you_. I want so much _with_ you. I want…” Pressing his forehead to hers, his eyes kept hold of hers as he imparted with a hint of contrition, “There are other ways of obtaining myself a child, but I… I only wanted one with you. I wanted - _want_ \- you.”

“If…” Emma began, only to stop herself and affirm, “ _Before_ we go through with this, I must know what your intentions are towards the child.” His face twisted in that telltale way whenever he tried to hold back the Darkness from overtaking him. “Killian, please. Tell me what you want the child for.”

His eyes fell shut, the battle still evident on his features as he choked out, “For love.”

“What?”

“I want… _need_ a child, so I can have someone to love,” he said, eyes fluttering open and free of any sinister spectre lingering in their corners. “Someone who will love _me_. Unconditionally. … _Truly_.”

“True Love,” Emma exhaled in understanding. “Someone with whom you might share a True Love’s Kiss? Am I right?”

“The rarest and most powerful magic of all,” he replied with a hope-filled tone. “Strong enough to transcend realms and break _any_ curse.”

Emma felt the breath still in her lungs and her heart skipped several beats. He wanted a child so he might be freed from his curse. Not for any nefarious or despicable reasons that might sate dark and sinister purposes. He wanted a child for love. And more than that… he wanted that child with her.

He wanted _her_.

Wetting her lips, Emma slipped her hands over Killian’s shoulders, forcing his waistcoat down his arms until it hit the floor with a soft thud. Looking up at him through her lashes, with her heart now pounding away within her chest, Emma said. “It’s been nearly a fortnight since I last bled.”

Lifting his forehead from hers, Killian cocked his head to one side and looked down on her with an inquisitively raised brow. “What are you saying, love?”

“I’m saying,” Emma replied, bringing herself up onto her toes so her mouth hovered against his. “Let’s make a baby, Killian.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

Anticipation fluttered in Emma’s chest and quivered through her extremities as Killian’s mouth slanted against hers, his hand and hook peeling the sleeves of her nightgown off her shoulders now that her robe had been discarded.

“Tell me how you prefer to be touched,” he said, the rough feel of his hand palming her breast as his hook continued to drag her garment down until it pooled at her feet.

“I don’t… what do you mean?” she panted, as he trailed kisses along her neck.

“You’ve experienced the touch of my fingers and my tongue,” he reminded her wickedly, latching on to a spot below her ear that nearly took her legs out from under her. “So tell me, love,” he insisted against the shell of her ear as his hand skimmed over her belly. “Which touch do you prefer?”

Before she could answer, a whimper fell from her lips at the loss of his. Her eyes fluttered open when the heat of his hand was also removed, and she saw him about to remove his hook from its brace.

“No, don’t,” she said, reaching out to stall his action. “I, uh…” A fresh swell of heat rushed up her neck as she admitted, “I like the hook.”

His brow crept an indecent path of intrigue up his forehead and his timbre dropped an octave as he murmured, “Do you indeed?” Clicking the appendage back into place, he ghosted it over her flesh and huskily requested, “Tell me, love. Has my hook been featured in any of your fantasies? The feel of it against your skin providing you with a sense of pleasure, perchance?”

The heat that had begun a scorching path up her neck now settled at her cheeks. Dipping her head, she demurred from his gaze, suddenly too shy to reveal the truth. It was no matter, though. By the sound of his chuckle, her reaction was confirmation enough.

“In these fantasies of yours,” he continued on with a seductive lilt, the cold touch of his hook running up her arm caused a shiver to run the length of her body, “where does my hook touch you?”

Her breath hitched when the sharp end of the cool steel lightly caressed its way across her collarbone.

“Tell me,” he said with an unexpected bite behind his words. Her eyes snapped up to his, and there, in the deep shadows of his midnight gaze, she could see the burning desire, the nagging hunger, the seemingly unquenchable thirst that made his chest heave in time with her own as he desperately held on to his restraint.

“You…” she began in a parched tone, pausing so she might swallow past the aridness that had collected in the back of her throat. “You run it over my breasts.”

A coy smile teased the corners of his mouth, and Emma sucked in a sharp breath when the prick of his hook circled her nipple. “Like this?” he murmured low.

With eyes clamped shut, she nodded. A moan fell from her lips when his pulled her other nipple into his mouth, laving it with the rough heat of his tongue as chilled, smooth metal tormented the other. She had only the bracing of his hand, splayed wide across her back, and the strength of his arm to thank for keeping her upright… Or so she thought. With a startled gasp, Emma grasped onto his arms, her eyes shooting open when his hand left her back. Miraculously, or more likely, magically, she did not find herself crashing to the floor. Instead, her body remained supported, suspended by the very air around her as his hand, hook, and mouth continued their assault of seduction.

“Where else?” he asked, skimming the crook of his hook along her waist and over her belly, his path clear even as he inquired, “Between your legs?”

Relaxing into the trust that his magic would continue to keep her upright, Emma nodded.

“And how does it make you feel? What’s it like to have my hook ravish you?”

“D-Dangerous.”

“You like a little danger, don’t you darling?”

The tip of his hook traced the crease of her pelvis, causing her hips to jerk. A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, the hot vapor making its way across her neck as his mouth moved along the column of her throat.

“Does the thought of my hook make you come?” he asked in a purely indecent tone.

Emma wet her lips and swallowed past her timidity so she could answer. “It... helps.”

Killian hummed. “Well, perhaps I can provide a bit more help.”

Waving his hand over the hard metal surface, his hook began to shimmer with enchantment. When the remnants of the casting faded away, Emma noted a trembling as well as a faint sound, like that of a hummingbird’s wings, quivering from the appendage. Before she could voice a response, his hook divested her of her remaining undergarments with the sounds of their rending ripping through the air, then he slid the crook of it through her damp folds. The vibrations wracking her core made other, more vocal and visceral reverberations echo through the room as she cried out. The welcome, but unexpected assault made Emma involuntarily snap her legs closed.

“Ah, ah,” Killian lightly admonished. “Keep those lovely thighs open for me, Swan.”

The volatile shuddering, originating from the hard, smooth steel pressed against her sex, was quickly taking hold of her, expelling all thought, all control, all ability to do anything more than simply… feel. Feel the ripples of ecstasy growing like a tidal wave along her spine, the rough scrape of Killian’s teeth as they pulled on her earlobe, the insistent caress of his magic as it forced her legs apart and supported every arch of her back and shake of her extremities, until she surrendered to the weightless sensation of refined pleasure pulsating its way through her entire body.

“That’s it, love,” Killian praised into her ear. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

Emma hadn’t even been aware of the sounds she’d been making, but the residual evidence of the guttural groans and screams of satisfaction she’d been emitting rasped at the back of her throat when she heaved a fresh breath into her lungs. A whimper soon followed when his hook, now still, fell away from her. Reaching down, Killian wrapped both arms under her thighs and the magic that had been keeping her upright abruptly vanished as he lifted her up. Instinctively, Emma wrapped her arms and legs around him, her head falling to his shoulder when a tremor of lingering bliss washed over her.

Vaguely aware of his steps, she lifted her head when they began to descend, and for the first time since she entered his chamber, Emma surveyed the room. “There’s no bed?” she said, formed in a sort of half question, half statement.

“I do not sleep,” he informed her, settling her onto soft cushions and pillows that littered a sunken area within the stone floor. “And I have not had need of one here for… other enjoyable activities, for quite some time.”

This was all explained as he peeled down the straps of his suspenders and pulled the wisp of a blouse from his body. Eyes locked onto hers, Killian began to loosen the laces of trousers, his head cocking to one side, weighing a decision while the heated caress of his gaze ran along her lounging form in much the same way hers did as it followed the wake of exposed skin left by the removal of his leather pants.

“I can’t decide how I want you,” he confessed in a low tone.

Transfixed by the sight of his manhood standing proud and more than a little intimidatingly before her, Emma nearly missed the musing.

“You can’t decide…”

“How I want you,” he finished for her after she’d left the words hanging. Sinking to his knees, he gingerly cupped the back of her ankle and lifted her foot to rest on his shoulder, skimming both his fingers and lips along the curve of her calf as he continued to consider his options.

“I could take you on your back,” he murmured into her skin, the vibration of his words and wet flicks of his tongue causing desire anew to pool between her thighs. “You would be a sight to behold with your hair fanned out like sunshine over the pillows, your breasts rubbing against my chest, nipples hardening from the tickle of my chest hair.”

Her heel slipped off the back of his shoulder, and soon the bend of her knee had taken its place. “In that position, I could watch you come again. You’re exquisite when you come. Your expressions, the way your skin pinks and dampens from the flush of release. Gods, it’s glorious.”

Emma could feel her breath quicken the closer he got to her center. The ache had begun to build again, accompanied by a throbbing of want that seemed to sync with the pounding of her heart. Maddeningly, he bypassed the area he had to have known most urgently needed his attention, and instead nipped at her hip bone while gently guiding her leg.

“Or shall I take you from behind,” he growled, rolling her onto her side so he could grip her backside tightly before smacking it hard with the palm of his hand. A shocked, gasping cry expelled from Emma’s lungs, followed by a deep moan when he rubbed the pained flesh with a soothing touch and placed a kiss upon its sting.

“I could watch my cock disappear into the depths of you while you rock on all fours in front of me. Completely at my mercy as I give you such pleasures you’ve only just begun to imagine.”

On her back once more, Emma felt the cold touch of his necklace skimming over her skin as his tongue laved a languid trail up her torso, circling her erect nipple before he sucked it into his mouth and continued to flick it mercilessly. His hand and hook took hold of her wrists and guided them above her head, holding them in place with a swift flick of his wrist; a devilish smirk pulling at his lips when she tried, and failed, to lower her hands.

“As much as I would love to have you on top of me,” he continued, “Your breasts bouncing delightfully as you ride me, taking ownership over your own pleasure, I feel I would be doing you a disservice if I put you in such a position of control while so inexperienced.”

On the verge of losing her mind to his teasing, to the feel of his body decadently pressed against hers, his hot, eager member taunting her, making her greedy for the sensation of it filling her, claiming her, taking her, Emma growled in frustration and wantonly whined, “Which one will most likely bring about the result we require to seal this deal?”

The snap of her tone gave him a moment’s pause and he peered down at her from behind the fringe that had fallen over his forehead. Shadows of seduction swirled within his midnight gaze and his tongue wet a path of craving over his lips as a spark of cognition glimmered from his eyes. Shifting his weight, he braced himself on his left forearm and removed the enchantment that held her hands with a wave of his own. Her fingers lightly grazed down his back as he ignited the skin along her side with the brush of his.

A quickened intake of breath filled her lungs when she felt the tip of his length being positioned between her legs, and she looked up into his face as he murmured, “Like this, then.” Her eyes slammed closed when he began to push his way inside, a groan echoing between them both before he whispered, “We’ll have one another like this.”

Emma tensed in response to the unaccustomed intrusion, and Killian’s advance stalled while he positioned himself overtop of her.

“Relax, love,” he encouraged on a haggard breath. “Any discomfort you might feel will be over with quickly.”

Trusting in his words, and now distracted by that promised sensation of his chest hair tickling her breasts as his hips continued their roll forward, Emma surrendered herself to the delightful stretch and expanding fullness occupying her center. Each withdrawal and return brought with it a bone deep pleasure as she held on for dear life to the straps of his brace criss-crossing his back.

“So tight and hot for me,” Killian rasped into the side of her neck. “And luscious. Ripe and willing to receive, aren’t you darling?”

Emma wasn’t even sure what he was murmuring on about. All she could focus on was the slide of him inside her, the way his pelvis would hit her just so the deeper he thrusted, how her hips began to move in rhythm with his own, and the now familiar tingle growing in intensity at the base of her spine.

Swiveling his hips aggressively against her pulled a series of gasps from her as pleasure rippled through her, skittering into her nerve endings. When she reciprocated in kind, her fingernails clawing a path down his already scarred back, a growl ripped from his chest and she suddenly found herself on her stomach, his member slipping from her as he coaxed her up onto all fours.

She hadn’t even had the chance to voice her displeasure over his cock’s absence when he filled her once more from behind. Emma cried out at the heightened sensations this new position afforded her, and Killian continued to surge forward with a vigor that transformed the gentle tingle into a crackling of anticipatory combustion.

Guttural groans and vocalized breaths of pure, primal pleasure reverberated from Killian while Emma struggled to keep breath in her lungs from the pounding force of his exertions. His hook curled over the top of her shoulder, anchoring her in place as his hand gripped her swinging breast, stilling it with a firm squeeze as he kneaded it in his palm. Her nipples were rolled into almost painful peaks before his hand resumed its trek down her body, leaving a wake of raised flesh in its wake.

His breaths were staccatoed, his hips firing like a piston with a speed and energy Emma wasn’t sure he could sustain for much longer. She wasn’t sure she could, either. Each thrust within the innermost part of her being was like flint striking against stone, sending a cascade of sparks in search of a fuse, or like the swell of a tidal wave, gaining momentum before it hurled itself to crash upon the shore.

When his fingers reached the apex of her thighs, he coerced the pleasure that had grown to its breaking point to restrain itself no longer. As the first tremor of release wracked her body, she felt Killian’s hips jerk wildly, his rhythm no longer the metered and controlled pace he’d been sustaining. His roar of ecstasy joined hers, and his hand moved to her waist, ensuring she would not collapse to the ground while also keeping her in place until he had completely emptied himself within her.

When at last the vestiges of her completion subsided, and he too found himself thoroughly spent, Killian gently guided her onto her back once more and instructed her to hold her legs to her chest.

“I am not sure of the validity of such claims,” he confessed, twining his fingers through her hair as he laid beside her, “but I have heard such a position afterwards helps with conception.”

Emma nodded, sleepily, her eyes growing heavy with both physical and emotional fatigue.

“I hope I was not… that is,” Killian began softly, sounding the most unsure of himself Emma had ever heard. “I wanted your first time… our first time together to be--”

Emma reached over and cupped his cheek, her thumb lightly brushing the scar that rested there. “It was perfect,” she told him.

A wide grin broke over his face and he stretched up to place a kiss along her hairline.

“Rest,” he told her. Urging her to roll over onto her side so he could mould himself to her back, he quipped. “You will need it for our next attempt.”

Emma giggled past her yawn and asked, “How many attempts are you planning?”

“As many as it takes,” he growled, playfully.

~/~

Emma moaned with pleasure, then groaned at the wakefulness threatening to creep in while she was experiencing the most exquisite dream. Her breath caught at the fresh flush of arousal rippling through her body, and her eyes reluctantly fluttered open. Gazing down, she noted the dark tousles of Killian’s hair sticking out at odd angles between her legs, and no sooner had she determined that her dream was in accord with reality than her completion hit her full force, causing her to come over Killian’s tongue. Her back arched and she reached down to grab fistfuls of his hair, but was thwarted by his hands capturing hers, entwining her fingers with his as she rode out the remainder of her bliss against his face.

Killian wore a smug, lopsided smile as his lips kissed their way back up her body. When it wasn’t supporting his weight, his right hand teased her flesh while his left hand remained fused with her right.

_Wait…_ she thought, descending from her euphoria and regaining her wits. _His left hand?_

Emma yanked on their joined hands, bringing them in front of her face and gasped, “Is that?”

“Mine?” he finished softly, with a hint of mirth at her reaction. “Aye.” Releasing his grip, he clenched and flexed his fingers before revealing, “I discovered it amongst my predecessor’s possessions. Seems he kept it as a souvenir.”

Emma brushed his hair from his forehead and softly caressed the creases that had formed above his brow, her heart aching for him even as her blood boiled. _A souvenir? The demented, evil, repugnant little imp kept his hand as a souvenir?_

“It’s only temporary,” he said with slightly stunted breaths. “I cannot make it permanent.”

“Then why?” she asked, threaded her fingers further into his hair, allowing his softening expression to relieve her of her own tormented feelings. “Did you think I would prefer it? I already told you,” she quipped, coquettishly, “I don’t mind the hook. In fact… I rather fancy it even more now.”

Killian chuckled and pulled her into his chest as he rolled them. “I know, love. I just… I wanted to…” He wrapped his arms firmly around her, the fingers of his right hand dancing along her spine as his left splayed wide across her back. “I just wanted the chance to hold you with both hands. If only just this once.”

Tears pricked the corners of Emma’s eyes and her response got caught in the back of her throat. Not trusting her voice, she remained silent for several long moments and allowed him to do just that. Eventually, his hands began to wander, skimming over her bare back, tangling in her hair, teasing the sensitive skin along her side, and palming the curve of her backside.

It didn’t take much prompting to get her to reciprocate, tracing the scars on his back, twirling her finger through the hair on his chest, running her fingertips over his stomach and giggling when the muscles beneath jumped at her touch. When another part of him twitched against her leg, Emma pulled her lip between her teeth and stared up at Killian while boldly gliding her hand further down his body. His eyelids fluttered and a soft moan rumbled in his throat when her nails reached the thick thatch of hair at his groin.

Killian rolled onto his back, giving her full access to his body. Suddenly unsure of herself, Emma started to pull her hand back when Killian wrapped his around her wrist and guided it back down.

“Like this, love,” he instructed, wrapping her hand around his hardened cock. “Up and down motions.”

His left hand remained over top hers while he showed her how he liked to be touched, and where. Emma’s timidity was long forgotten as she concentrated on the way his breath hitched or the muscles in his thighs and belly tightened just before his hips jerked. His voice grew gruffer, his pants more desperate with each new instruction, and soon he let her take over completely. Dropping his hand to the side, he fisted one of the cushions as she pumped her hand along his length, aided by the slick arousal seeping from the tip of his cock.

When her own arousal began to wet her thighs, Emma was reminded of the way he had woken her up with his mouth, which called forth memories of their bath together. She wondered if he would enjoy her pleasuring him in the same way, and changed position so she could wrap her lips around him.

“Bloody hell!” he cried out, his hips bucking at the unexpected sensation, forcing his cock further past her lips and deeper into her mouth.

She tried to pull back, wondering if she’d been wrong, when his hand gripped the back of her head, coaxing her to continue as he begged, “Gods, don’t stop!”

Not entirely certain of what to do, Emma continued to take as much of him into her mouth as she could before slowly pulling back until the rim of his cockhead hit her lips. She repeated the action over and over again, his fist tightening in her hair even as he guided her rhythm. Though the repetitive motion soon became quite taxing, Emma delighted in the feel of his velvety member as it slid in and out of her mouth. Her tongue traced the rigidity of his veins as she savored the briny taste his essence left behind with each swipe over his tip.

Taking one of her hands in his, Killian placed it between his legs and urged her to touch him as she had before. His back arched and his head fell back against the pillows when she began to cup and fondle him as instructed. Having the Dark One completely at her mercy made Emma feel powerful in a way she never had before. His pleasure was literally in the palm of her hand (and between her lips), and that knowledge only heightened her own enjoyment of the act.

The pace of her ministrations increased as he began to thrust up into her mouth, and Emma felt certain his completion was imminent. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind when the hand at the back of her head held her tightly against him as hot spurts hit the back of her throat while cries of ecstasy escaped Killian’s. Each spasm of his release filled her mouth, and when at last he seemed fully spent, Emma managed to let him slip from her mouth without making a complete mess of things.

Panting, his chest heaving as he gazed down at her, a wicked, if not slightly weary smirk lifted at the corner of his mouth as he informed her, “You’re meant to swallow it, Swan.”

His words immediately called up the memory of their first dinner together and the oyster he had fed her. With the same determination, Emma swallowed the thick, briny substance and waited for the expectant shudder to roll over her. Surprisingly, he went down much more smoothly than the oyster had.

A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he sat up. Running his thumb over her swollen lips, he praised, “Good girl,” then pulled her back down with him, capturing her in his arms once more. “Or perhaps, maybe a bit naughty,” he amended with a waggle of his brows. “Not that I mind, even if that _attempt_ will prove fruitless.”

They laid there for many long minutes, each distracted by their own thoughts and the other’s touch. When Killian’s hand skimmed over her stomach and paused just below her belly button, Emma was reminded of their deal and wondered if a new life might even now be forming within the depths of her womb. From the way his thumb continued to caress her belly, Emma knew he was contemplating the very same possibility.

The possibility of a cure from the thing that had plagued him for centuries, a way to break his curse and free him from the Darkness.

But what would such freedom mean? If their efforts were successful and a True Love’s Kiss managed to vanquish the Darkness for good, what would happen to all of the outstanding deals?

“You’re worried for your father?” Killian murmured, alerting Emma to the fact her musings had not been internal.

“And the kingdom we visited tonight,” she told him while wondering if there were other deals left outstanding from his predecessor. If so, what of them?

“The magic would remain,” he assured her. “Your father would retain his health, and the goose I cast the Midas curse upon after we returned to the castle earlier this evening would continue to lay golden eggs until the curse died with it.”

Relieved that no one else would suffer in exchange for his salvation, Emma moved on to other ponderings. “Do you think it’ll happen right away?”

“What?”

“The True Love’s Kiss,” she clarified. “Do you think it’ll happen the first moment you place your lips upon our child, or do you think the child will have to grow up first?”

“I… don’t know,” he replied, perhaps only just now pondering the particulars himself. “I suppose it could happen either way... if it happens at all.”

Emma refused to acknowledge his doubts, not wishing to give any credence to the possibility all their efforts might be in vain. “If it isn’t immediate… then the child will have to remain here, so they can grow to love you over time.”

“Aye,” he answered with a slight hesitation in his voice. “That would be the ideal course of action.”

“Then,” Emma said, sleepily. “We’ll have to make a new deal.”

“A new deal?” he said in a strained whisper, stiffening slightly. “What sort of new deal?”

Having not fully registered the change in his countenance, Emma snuggled further into his embrace and yawned into his shoulder, “One that keeps me here as well.”

“ _Keeps_ you here?”

“I don’t want to be separated from my child,” she told him, her eyes growing heavier by the moment. “I know our original deal stipulated I would hand my child over to you, but do you honestly expect me to just leave them behind? To leave you to raise a baby, _our_ baby, on your own?”

“But…” he argued softly, “What of your family? Your future? We’ve no way of knowing when or even _if_ a True Love’s Kiss might happen. It could take years. Decades.”

“Then I guess I shall have to remain here for years or even decades,” she said, another yawn wracking her body with deep fatigue. “We don’t have to agree upon anything now,” she assured him. “There is time enough to sort it all out.” Relaxing into the warmth of his body, Emma released a contented sigh and closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Killian.”

His lips brushed her forehead and remained pressed against her skin as he murmured, “Goodnight, my love,” while she slipped into a deep sleep.

~/~

Emma stretched, noting the slight soreness in places she wasn’t used to feeling such stiffness. She supposed she’d have to become accustomed to that, should more _attempts_ be required. And she most certainly hoped they would.

Never in her life had she fallen asleep so contented, feeling protected and cherished in Killian’s arms. Arms that were no longer holding her, she realized, breathing in deeply as she committed to the wakefulness the soft, pre-dawn glow was coaxing her towards behind her eyelids.

The lack of Killian’s arms around her wasn’t the only thing that felt off about her surroundings. She was no longer lying prone on the soft and supple cushions Killian had worshipped her body on, nor was she atop the mattress back in her own chambers. While the familiarity of the castle was now gone, Emma realized as the notes of her inhale hit her sinuses that she was not waking up in an altogether foreign place.

Bolting upright, Emma found herself back in her old room, in her old bed, in the house that, up until a week ago, had been the only home she’d ever known. The acknowledgment that her family’s farm no longer felt like home hit her with a force that nearly stole the breath from her lungs. The urgency she now felt to return to the castle and discover how she had come to be back here prompted her to throw back her blankets and leap from the bed. Killian must be beside himself with worry.

In her haste to get dressed as quickly and quietly as she could, Emma did not see the letter propped up on her vanity until she reached for her hair brush. A foreboding sense of dread prickled over her skin, and for the first time since waking, Emma considered that, perhaps, Killian already knew exactly where she was. Trembling, Emma picked up the letter, her fingers lightly tracing the elegant script of her name as she fortified herself for what lay inside.

_My Emma,_

_Forgive my cowardice. I could not bring myself to say all that which you deserve to hear, for fear of how you would react. For fear you would not allow me to explain. For fear I would not be able to see this explanation through to the end._

_You see..._

_I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love. My Milah. I spent a lifetime seeking vengeance, only to become the very thing that stole her from me in the first place. My thirst for revenge had crippled my capacity to love, and the Darkness all but snuffed it out completely. I never thought myself capable of love again._

_Until I met you._

_That day in the glen, seeing you stand before me without a trace of fear, willing to beg for your father’s life, willing to trade your own for his, you showed me what true love looks like. I remember thinking, if only I had a child who loved me half as much as you loved your father, and then… well, you know the rest._

_Except for this._

_You made me believe in love again, Swan. You made me believe that a child,_ my _child, might love me enough to break my curse. Then you did the impossible, and made me love you._

_I love you, Emma Swan._

_I love you, and that is why I must let you go. You deserve so much more out of life than to be trapped with me indefinitely. I know you, Swan. You were willing to give up your life in order to save your father, and are now willing to trade away your freedom in order to remain with your child. Even if it means losing all hope of the life you deserve._

_I will not force you to stay here, away from your family, away from those you love and who love you. For I remember now the pain of that longing. The longing I once felt for Milah. The longing I will now feel for you._

_You needn’t worry about our deal. Should our union last night result in a child, I will see that neither of you want for anything, and I will not force you to part with it. The mere fact that I keep the right to do so will satisfy the terms. Likewise, one day when you meet a man, a man whose love is worthy of you and who is worthy of yours in return, you need not fear if the child you bear for him is the first from your womb. I shall not intervene, and your father will remain well._

_As I hope, will you._

_Yours,_

_Killian_

Tears splashed against the parchment as Emma read through its contents once more. How? How could he think she would not want to stay with him? Hadn’t she told him while enveloped in his embrace and snuggled closely to his chest that she had wanted to stay? Had even suggested they…

Emma gasped and covered her mouth, dropping the letter which fluttered silently to the floor.

_“We’ll have to make a new deal.”_

_“A new deal?” he said in a strained whisper, stiffening slightly. “What sort of new deal?”_

Emma hadn’t been cognizant enough in her fatigued state to pick up on it at the time. The strained whisper, tinted with anguish. The way he’d gone rigid in a way that was similar to when she’d asked him to make a new deal at the ball. How could she have been so thoughtless? So careless with her words?

Killian viewed deals as traps; a way to ensnare the despondent and take advantage of desperate souls. He’d had to serve the Darkness in honoring unsavory agreements, becoming trapped by the rules of their fineprint himself. The only deal he’d ever initiated had been carefully constructed so neither Smee nor himself would be bound to it for more than a year at a time. Even with the deal she had insisted upon, he’d left her an out; a way of escape she would never have actually taken, but a failsafe nonetheless. Though, he had confessed only yesterday that he realized the provision he’d left her didn’t mean she was any less trapped, and that… he did not want her to feel like a prisoner.

_“One that keeps me here as well.”_

_“_ Keeps _you here?”_

He thought the creation of a new deal meant she’d only stay because she had to, that she would imprison herself voluntarily for the sake of their child, when that hadn’t been at all what she’d meant. Yes, she was agreeing to stay voluntarily because she _wanted_ to, not because she had to. She wanted to stay with him, bear his child, raise that child with as much love as she could pour into them so that one day they might be capable of the kind of love their father would require to be truly free.

Not because doing so would keep _her_ father alive. Not because she had made a deal. No. For even if their every attempt failed to produce a child, Emma would never consider a life spent with Killian wasted, because…

She loved him, too.

Knowing she only had a matter of minutes before her parents would rise to start the day (if they hadn’t already), Emma abandoned her brush, slipped on her shoes, and snatched Killian’s letter from the floor before creeping over the windowsill as she had when she’d first slipped away to honor her deal. Although she was certain she had heard her parent’s startled voices, crying out for her to stop when she reached the treeline, Emma did not look back as she sprinted through the forest towards the clearing.

The closer she got to his vault the more fraught her emotional state became; elated by the confessions within his letter, worried over her parent’s reaction when they learned of her choice, anxious in the hope of a future, though uncertain, she’d never been more sure of, and anger. Anger boiling hot within her veins at the Darkness, which for too long had poisoned Killian into believing he was unworthy of love. The closing lines of his letter, and the doubts he’d voiced the night before kept repeating themselves over and over again in Emma’s mind as her legs began to grow heavy with each pounding footfall.

_...one day when you meet a man, a man whose love is worthy of you and is worthy of yours in return..._

_“I suppose it could happen either way... if it happens at all.”_

His belief that he alone was not enough absolutely infuriated her. Even with the Darkness always lurking just below the surface, Killian had proven himself to be a good man; a man of honor who cared deeply and ultimately wanted to do what was right, and should a cure to his curse never present itself, Emma would continue to love him all the same.

Clamouring through the last of the groves, Emma stepped up to the raised dais of the vault and took a moment to catch her breath before calling out, “Killian Jones! I summon thee!”

The wind was blistering this time, a frigid assault gusting around her as he emerged from the mire bubbling up from the vault. When the last of it had dissipated, he opened his eyes and his brows immediately shot up as a startled expression overtook his face.

“Swan? What are--”

Emma threw the crumpled up letter at his chest, wishing it had the weight of her emotions behind it as she yelled, “That’s not enough for me!”

His features hardened, the flicker of menace she associated with his curse twitching over his visage as he clipped out, “I gave you your freedom. What more could you want?”

“You!” she cried out. Taking hold of his hand and his hook - affixed once more where his left hand had been - she attempted to pull him down off the dais, but he stubbornly remained planted at its edge. “I want you! I want you to tell me to stay _without_ a deal. Tell me you want the child I may very well be carrying even if it never manages to break your curse! Tell me from your own lips that you love me, because I… I love you, too!”

“Emma,” he exhaled on a stunned breath, all vestiges of the Darkness retreating from his countenance as he stumbled off the dais in his rush to gather her in his arms. “Do you? Truly?”

Craning her neck to look up into his face, which she had cupped in both her hands, she declared once more, “I love you, Killian Jones.”

His eyes crinkled and a wide, incredulous smile broke over his face. “And I you.”

Their lips crashed together and Emma’s arms had just looped around his neck when a shock wave, originating from their kiss, nearly threw her backwards from the force of whatever magic had been expelled. Braced in Killian’s arms, Emma looked up into his equally confused face.

“Was that…?”

Before he could answer, they held on to one another for dear life as the ground shook beneath their feet. The rumble of splitting stone reverberated through the glen as a deep fissure cracked the vault in half.

When the glen stood still once more, Killian tentatively reached into his coat and unsheathed the dagger from his belt. Emma held her breath as he turned the blade over in his hand, searching for a name that was no longer etched upon its surface. A sheen misted over his eyes when he flicked his gaze up to hers, but their reaction to the astounding consequences of their kiss was once again thwarted by the appearance of Emma’s parents, frantically entering the far end of the glen.

“Emma!”

Her mother cried out for her as her father bellowed at Killian to release her. When the arm he still had wrapped around her slackened, Emma tightened her own around his shoulders. Her father’s advancement was stalled only by the grip her mother had on his arm, otherwise he would have likely forced them apart with his own two hands.

“Enough, Papa,” Emma shouted back, only vaguely aware of her mother crouching down to retrieve Killian’s discarded letter, which had blown to the other side of the clearing where her parents now stood.

“Emma, we saw you leaving the farm. Why did you run away again? What has this demon tricked you into agreeing to this time?”

“He isn’t a demon,” she stated, sharply. “He has never _been_ a demon, or a monster, or any other vile creature the villagers have concocted in their yarns. He is cursed.”

“Was,” Killian said, softly.

Emma’s head snapped back to him, her gaze locking with his as that truth took root. “Was,” she repeated with a nod of her head, tears stinging her eyes as she threw her arms back around his neck as his tightly circled her waist.

“What do you mean, _was_?” David hollered, and Emma almost broke into peals of irrational laughter over her father’s petulant tone. “Will someone explain what is going on!”

“Charming,” her mother interjected quietly. “Read this.”

Emma watched as her father read Killian’s letter, her heart pounding so hard she could feel the concussion of each beat in her throat.

“They love each other,” her mother told him when her father’s wide eyes sought hers after he’d finished reading. “ _Truly_ love one another.”

“Do you mean? That blast of magic, the earthquake? That was--”

“True Love,” Killian marveled, looking not at her parents, but lovingly down on her with disbelief still swimming in his eyes. “Magic powerful enough to transcend realms, and--”

“Break any curse,” Emma finished, smiling brightly up at him.

Reluctantly, she released Killian when he made it clear he wished to approach her father, but held fast to his hand as they walked together across the glen. Stopping short of where her parents stood, Emma could feel the trepidation rolling off him and his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily before he spoke.

“Sir,” he addressed her father. “When last we faced one another in this clearing, you asked what my intentions were with your daughter.” David nodded his acknowledgement, his face like flint and his posture set in a wary stance as he waited for Killian to continue. “Would you, and your family, do me the honor of joining me for dinner at my castle, so we might discuss the matter? As gentlemen?”

Emma’s mother reached over and took Emma’s other hand, all three of them holding their breath in anticipation as Killian held out his hand towards her father. David glanced down at Killian’s hand, then flicked his eyes back up.

“No,” he said, causing Emma’s heart to drop into her stomach, until… he clasped Killian’s hand before it could be withdrawn and added, “But _you_ can come to _our farm_ and have dinner with us as _our_ guest.”

Emma launched herself at her father, holding him tightly as she whispered in his ear, “Thank you, Papa.”

Cradling the back of her head, he murmured back, “Who am I to deny my daughter of her True Love? ...Even if it does come in the form of a pirate.”

Killian chuckled, betraying the fact he’d overheard her father’s words, which had also triggered a concern she hadn’t considered before now.

Turning back to Killian, she grasped his hook and asked, “What about Mr. Smee? He’s still in port. We should share the news befores he departs with the _Jolly Roger_.”

Killian swiped his tongue over his lips, then pressed it to the back of his teeth while looking up towards the sun, gauging, “I think we have time to make it to the docks and back again before dinner. I should break the news in person, and… I’d like to visit the old girl now that I can set foot on her without causing her harm. It’s been too long since I’ve felt her welcoming presence, and I’d rather not wait until she makes port again.”

Emma caressed his cheek, allowing him to nuzzle his face against her palm before she ran her fingers through his hair, a look of understanding shining from her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to have her captain back.” Emma’s brows pinched together as another thought struck her. Although she knew Smee would also be relieved that Killian was at long last free of his wretched curse, she couldn’t help but wonder, “Do you think Smee will be at all disappointed when he learns you no longer have the ability to keep him young?”

A smile played at Killian’s lips as a sly brow crept up his forehead, “I don’t think he’ll be too fussed once he hears the terms of the _new_ deal I’m prepared to make with him.”

“What deal?”

“My ship for a certain goose,” he replied with a playful hitch of his brows before they both broke out in laughter.

“A goose?” David scoffed, confusion over their joint mirth etched across his face. “For a ship? Who in their right mind would make that deal?”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments. I so appreciate y'all going on this journey with me! *MUAH*


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